The Angel Of Death
by TheKyttin13
Summary: American government has now been overthrown, and the system is corrupted, yet 'perfect'. The only people to save the day are a crazy man, a blonde dare-devil, and America's favorite pop-star. The Kingdom of the Dead will fall...or will it? ABANDONED
1. This Is The Life

_**A/N: I have a new concept for a story, and an unorthodox way of setting it up for myself and readers. Currently, I am also writing a Jimmy Neutron fanfic, but after browsing the Hannah Montana stuff here, I have to say it took my interest. My goal for this story is 10,000 words per chapter, and in content alone on this one, I fell just short; it is currently 9,964 words in length and I hope to change that in the next chapter. Still...9964 in less than twelve hours is alright...technically, it only took four hours to get it down. Which is a bit slow for me; I can blow out a 5,000 word JN chapter in an hour and a half. **_

_**Enough idle chitchat. This story is going to be a long one, so prepare for a long haul. :)**_

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Darkness laid thick and heavy over the city. There weren't even speckles of light from the buildings that towered over the shops and businesses below, not even a single bit of movement. Everything had stopped dead, everything had fallen silent. Night had taken on a new meaning; it meant quiet, and it meant cold, and it meant punishment for disturbers of the peace. The thick, oppressive blanket of shadow snaked its tendrils of ebony smoke through every crack, across every surface. Houses, apartments, supermarkets, banks, warehouses, businesses, towers, cars, trucks, trains, planes, everything was covered in black, as though it had been painted by some demented artist with a twisted vision of the future. Everything had changed after the restructuring.

It wasn't to be helped. America never was very good at picking who would lead the way and shine the light on a new tomorrow. But even so, it had tried. Unfortunately, it had all backfired, and the man who sat in the white-house had taken over everything from the east to the west. Everything. Not a single drop of water had escaped his control, not even a crumb of bread. Everything was his. Absolutely everything. He had decided to restructure the whole system, and it had worked. The public had been stupid enough to buy into his lies, been ignorant enough to believe everything he had said. And he used it to his full advantage. Total take-over. Total annihilation. People everywhere called him the Angel of Death. Monarch to the kingdom of the dead. For he had trapped everyone, as if they were the walking dead. Zombies. Petrified. Clueless. And now they all had to obey.

Nobody was to make any loud noise after eight in the evening every night. Period. Nobody was to leave home past nine in the evening. Period. Nobody was to be awake past ten in the evening. Period. Everyone had to wake up promptly at seven in the morning, and they all were at their desks working, or driving trucks, or building a new skyscraper, or manufacturing cars, or doing whatever the populace required of them by eight in the morning sharp. Anyone who reported in late lost their pay for the day. There was no such thing as vacation. No such thing as a sick day. No such thing as women in the work force. They were to stay home and take care of their children while their husbands worked. And the husbands worked from eight until six, every day. A thirty-minute break was held for lunch across the nation promptly at twelve noon every day, and anyone not in compliance was immediately called up and written a demerit. Two demerits lead to a hearing with the Board of Inquiries, and if a third demerit followed, the person was fired without question. No job openings presented themselves; there was no way for new jobs to be created. Everything ran based on popular demand and exact figures, and anyone who was fired was immediately alleviated from the national equation. It was a perfect system. Smooth, flawless, unhindered, unstoppable.

Their leader was not President of the United States. He was Monarch. Dictator. Kaiser. Chief. King. His word was law. Always law. Always. No questions, no comments, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Nothing could be done to remove him from office. Anyone who spoke out against him was condemned and erased. Every house could be erased. A new one could be created right where it had stood, for maturing teenagers when they reached their eighteenth birthday. Nobody ever got to stay at home anymore and live with their families. Nobody. Everything was grid-iron, structured, formulated, solvable. There were no anomalies. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that could break the system. It was perfect. Nothing beats perfection. Nothing. No way in, no way out.

There was some good to the monarchy. There were no wars. None. All the other countries around the world thought America was fucked up. And it was. It was beyond repair. The people had finally committed suicide as a nation and had succumbed to his tyrannical reign. The rest of the world had gone quiet to America. Nobody spoke to them. They spoke to nobody. No more trading. No more imports or exports. Oil became something that was manufactured from plastic and wood. Water was synthesized from dirt. Most everything was synthesized from dirt. And when it moved to the recycling plants, there it once again was reconverted back into dirt. Excrement became dirt. Even humans who died became dirt. They were buried in the ground, only to be dug up one week later and mulched into fertilizer or tomatoes or a tabletop. Everybody had some part of a dead person's remains in their house, woven into the cloth of their clothes or the wood of their cabinets, or even the condensers on their refrigerators. Nothing was free of dirt. Nothing. But this made for peace. Bombs could be synthesized from and then disguised as dirt. Nobody on the rest of the planet knew if the ground they stood on was safe or live. And they never would. It was the sheer terror of knowing that America could go fucking nuts and blow the planet to Kingdom Come. America, the beautiful.

The only other advantage to no war and self-production was the economic stability. Everyone had jobs. Those that didn't were disregarded. Those that couldn't weren't tallied. Women weren't counted anymore. They had lost their rights in the fight for salvation. It was hopeless. Any person who fought the system was condemned, dismembered slowly and with excruciating pain, and then discarded into a euthanizer. And nobody wanted their ashes to become the food that someone else would eat. So they all quietly abhorred the system within their own minds, acting like mindless robots carrying out their daily tasks. Nothing changed. Nothing needed to change. Nothing was out of place, and everything was accounted for.

Which is why it was so strange. It was one in the morning, the darkest part of the night, with no moon in sight (America had taken the moon hostage and had planted factories all over it, with shuttles constantly linking here and there to move the food, clothes, dirt, ash, and dust around as it needed to be), and yet there was light. One solitary light. It moved quickly, lithely, stealthily through the blackened streets, zipping and weaving and darting between cars frozen in their parked states, dodging obstacles and maneuvering rather quickly and quietly through the streets of downtown Los Angeles, the City of Fallen Angels. The light moved steadily toward its destination, and in the darkness around it, the city's hidden cameras and radar scopes picked up on the movement. Units were immediately sent to detain the light. For attached to the light was a motorcycle that had a V-shaped frontal cross-section with two wide tires that were rounded off for tight maneuvering. The black spokes twirled rapidly as the bike moved. Everything about the bike was high-tech and of finest quality. Of course, America had stopped having these street bikes, these 'crotch rockets' imported from Brazil and India after the take-over. It had been a limited-edition model at the time, pitch-black with gray and red accents spewing from around the cat-eye headlights and up over the short wind-shield.

The figure atop the bike was clad entirely in black-and-red gear. Sleek, black, aerodynamic boots with cleats mounted to the soles rested tensely on the footpegs, covering the ankles of skin-tight black leather pants that had been lined with rabbit's fur for warmth and had pads on the insides of the knees and crotch for abrasive protection against the bike itself. A black leather jacket with flared cuffs and a high collar was zipped tightly to the figure's body, with a sleek, black, aerodynamic helmet atop that. Even the gloves were black leather, and they had small, air-diffusing bumps on the knuckles to create a more stream-lined sense of motion. Not even a single strand of hair escaped the helmet, not one piece of clothing was out of place. The figure, the shadow, was dressed so that nothing of its carbon-based skin was revealed to the outside. It tucked down against the bike's gas tank and hung a sharp left, then a right. The goal was very clear. Very precise. And He didn't like it when anyone was late. The shadow swallowed hollowly. If it showed up late, He would be very angry. He was a good guy, but sometimes He was a little demanding and pushy. Still, He had formed an underground cult that was supposed to overthrow the government from the monarchy. The Kingdom of the Dead would fall to pieces if He had anything to say about it, and the shadow was happy to help, even if His methods were unorthodox or extraordinary.

A red light shown like a beacon and reflected into the shadow's full-face blacked-out helmet shield. It chuckled lowly, watching the light flicker as the incarceration unit tried closing in. The bike was only traveling at about one-fourth of its speed, about sixty miles per hour, darting and drifting through the streets. The red and blue flickered ominously behind the bike. A mechanical voice demanded that the bike be pulled over and the rider dismount for examination. A smug smile crossed the shadow's lips.

"Come play," it whispered. It twisted its right wrist backwards, the engine revving as the shadow shifted up a gear, boosting the bike up to nearly one-hundred miles per hour. The engine worked quietly and powerfully; it never sputtered or changed rpm. The lights behind the bike disappeared as the shadow entered a parking lot and then circled a store back to the street. Even with the more modernized method of catching criminals, there was no way that the shadow would go down without a fight. It was quick, it was calm, it was patient. It would wait for the opposition to lose interest before making a move. And without hesitation, the bike found its way onto the 405 north, which reached all the way up to San Francisco in the north. The cult had been instructed to meet in Temecula, so almost as soon as the shadow entered the empty highway and twisted the throttle up to one-hundred-eighty miles per hour, it was departing the exit ramp, crossing the empty intersections, sliding around corners and lifting the front wheel in the air from sheer horsepower and amusement.

_If only He could see me now._

Of course, He loved anything that was considered misconduct with the authorities. He hated them with such a passion that it was almost scary. He could spin stories, true stories, about what was really going on beyond the harsh ruling that had been instated in every last part of America. It was no longer Land of the Free, Home of the Brave. It was Land of the Greed, Home of the Enslaved. And He abhorred the government so fiercely and with such passion that it soon began rubbing off on everyone in the cult. They were all suddenly very daring to do crazy things, to rebel against authority. Since they were all of-age, too, it only made sense that they could try to get away with such folly. It was madness, they knew, and they never really understood how He could always do the craziest stunts and get away with it.

He was a nice man. Polite, courteous, courageous. Everything that the cult aspired to be. But he was practical, tactical, well-informed. He was always coming up with new ideas to end the reign of terror. He was always so energetic and so eager to help with other projects, too. But this time, he had come out with very clear instructions as to what everyone had to do. They would be putting his grand scheme into play at the Angel's Stadium in Anaheim in just one week, and they had to work out all the bugs and kinks before they got to the event. Flyers had already been passed out, everyone within the Los Angeles County knew; even in Long Beach and San Diego and Fresno and Temecula and San Francisco and Santa Monica, everyone knew. They were all buzzing with excitement, talking with their work buddies at lunch, but never disclosing anything to their bosses. None of the authorities knew. Everyone had already spent money on tickets, but at only twenty-five dollars a pop, with five for one-hundred, it was a very good deal. Everyone wanted to see what they had planned. Even the stadium employees and director were in on it and were working quietly to get everything ready. It was going to be big. It was going to be loud. And it was going to break curfew and sound laws into millions of tiny pieces. And the best part was that authorities could do nothing about it.

The shadow pulled the bike into the garage of a small, single-story house that lay nestled between two other one-story houses which all belonged to a neighborhood, a spiderweb of interlinking roads that connected a patchwork quilt of houses and apartments and buildings of all different shapes and sizes and uses. However, there was something different about this particular house. The instant the garage door closed behind the shadow and its bike, the huge, three-foot-thick concrete slab that the empty garage floor was made of began to sink into the ground almost silently, a slight hiss and a gentle whirring the only indicators that it was an elevator and not an actual garage floor. It fell at a very slow rate, and was controlled by water pressure and hydraulic pistons. It was virtually undetectable to any and all bug sweepers, and nobody would ever have guessed that the house was the entrance to an underground parking garage that laid five stories beneath the ground, underneath all sewage lines and construction work and subways and even electrical cables. It was untraceable, impregnable (with twelve-foot-thick re-bar-reinforced concrete walls that formed the exoskeleton of the underground fortress), and was the perfect hideout. Nobody would ever have suspected that the house, which looked exactly like all the rest that it sat amidst, save for the actual number of the house, was home to a secret organization, a secret covenant, a cult of personality that only had one objective: overthrow the government.

But what made the cult and its leader, Him, so brilliant, is that the idea was that of Gandhi and Martin Luther King Junior and Rosa Parks and several other freedom fighters. The idea was simple: practice non-violence until the first strike is thrown. For, you see, He had literally built the fortress on a sea of bombs and explosives, and they were all housed in a large steel vault underneath the exoskeleton of concrete. At any given moment, the bombs could be rocketed through the houses of the neighborhood, through the buildings and trees and grass shoots and sprinklers, through subways and conduit and wiring and cables, through to the fresh air of the surface, where they became active, lethal machines of war and death. And while the White House, the Shrine of Blood, was nigh impregnable, the immense amount of sheer hydrogen-based firepower that He sat atop each and every day was staggering. It could easily eliminate any country that believed it could stand up to America, and the best part was that it all appeared to be a large mound of multicolored dirt and rocks. He had just as much access to the information and plans as the Monarch did, and he was at perfect liberty to use it.

The shadow reached the top floor of the complex, the parking garage, and wheeled the bike over to its slot, two slots to the left of the secondary elevator at the far end of the room. The spot was labeled with the name "Shadow," one to the left of "Star," one to the left of "Leader." He hadn't ever changed his name on the concrete floor, even after he renamed himself. Leader was a bit obvious of a name, but it was a fitting title, as he was the one who organized the entire cult and kept it running smoothly, after all. The shadow parked the bike, polishing the logo on the side, which read "Black Panther" in very tiny, blood-red font that was slightly sunken into the plastic fairing over the cat's eye headlights, the red-tinted "iris" rings that acted as turn signals reflecting the overhead halogen lights as they bathed the room in their ethereal glow. The logo shone, and the shadow moved to the elevator, walking past the gorgeous red Corvette that Star drove and the four-wheeled two-seater hoverbike that He rode. The Corvette had been called The Fox; the hoverbike named Spyder. It looked very much like a spider, a shiny set of royal purple carbon-fiber flares and mudflaps protecting the tires, black-and-midnight-blue carbon-fiber plastics adoring the fairing, sides, and rear fender. Even the front fender was a sleek, deep cobalt color and weighed near nothing. Which was not to say that it was the best item in the garage, as the red Corvette beside it spoke for itself on appearance alone. It was absolutely breathtaking, and yet, it too held secrets: where the Spyder could reach a speed equal to that of the Black Panther, The Fox had been equipped with an engine that was as quiet as it was outgoing: it could produce enough horsepower output to raise the car's speedometer needle upwards toward two-hundred-eighty miles per hour. The supercharger and nitrous oxide tanks only served to boost its impression; it was a car made for high-speed getaways, and it was not one to be easily forgotten.

The shadow entered the elevator beside the Spyder and pushed the button labeled Board Room. It checked its watch and sighed a bit sadly. One-twelve in the morning. The meeting had begun two minutes before. He hated when people were late. But Shadow always got off easy. He was a bit more reasonable with Shadow and Star, the first two who He'd recruited for the cult. Shadow had accepted first. It was because they'd been friends, very strong and steady friends. Because He was a nice man. He had always been a nice man, even as a boy. And He was two years the junior.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Inside the Board Room were only two people, both at the far end of the fifty-foot-long solid oak table. A large clock that was based in the oak paneled wall behind the high-backed chair at the far end of the table did indeed announce that it was one-thirteen in the morning. Sitting in front of, but below, the gigantic hands of the clock was a figure clad mostly in black. Spiked black hair. Black short-sleeved t-shirt with glowing maroon graphics. Black leather pants that had purple stripes running in crosses and ribs, like a tight webbing, all the way from His crotch and black, diamond-studded belt down to His knees, where the pants were surrounded by black, laced-up leather boots with six inch rubber pumps cemented into the bottoms. The purple laces reflected the halogen light from overhead, while the toe of the highly-polished right boot shined as it rested on the equally-highly-polished table. Black, elbow-length gloves, skin-tight and made of an odd, surreal material clung to His skin, making it shiny and dark, just the way He liked everything of His to be. The dark cobalt-blue jacket that draped loosely over His shoulders and arms, the cobalt-blue necktie that He wore, the electric-blue contact lenses in His eyes, all tied together, all served to further accent his eccentric taste in fashion and style. But by no means was he a diva. He was a sane man, a straight man, one who could enjoy only the company of other women within his own bed.

Seated to His left was Star. Her dark-chocolate-colored hair ran in gentle curls down her back, covering part of her white cardigan, the accent to her red spaghetti-strap top that covered her body down to the waist, where black jeans ran to her ankles, meeting black, strapped, four-inch-tall high heeled shoes. The brunette gazed at Shadow with devious eyes, eyes that were both questioning and forgiving, angry and yet relieved. She stood immediately at the sight of her friend, her fellow cult member, blinking her long, thick eyelashes in an attempt to say hello without opening her ruby-red lips or moving her blush-covered cheeks. She looked absolutely gorgeous, as she should have; she was fairly well-off financially and didn't ever overstep her budget line. Everyone was on a tighter budget than they would have liked, but He never seemed to have any problems coming across money; it always seemed to fall into His lap whenever he needed it.

The elevator doors shut and the carriage moved down. He cleared his throat quietly at the head of the table.

"Truscott. You're three minutes late."

Shadow took off the helmet, letting her golden tresses careen down her back in a smooth, luscious waterfall of sun-kissed waves and locks. She set the helmet at the end of the table she was nearest to, sliding next out of her jacket, underneath which was a white long-sleeved V-neck blouse that had white and gray skull graphics plastered across the front. She dropped the leather jacket onto her helmet, the resounding dull flump of cowhide against plastic and wood resonating throughout the room. The oak panels had excellent acoustics and amplified the sound by several decibels.

"I got spotted by a patrol unit. I had to detour momentarily to shake it."

He lifted his left leg up, crossing the left foot and its matching boot over the right one. He leaned back in His chair, resting the back of His head in His hands, the diamond and platinum bracelets that adorned each wrist glimmering beautifully in the light. He was never short on money, ever. He lived only in luxury and cleanliness.

"What classification?" he asked calmly. His voice was suave and courteous, merely asking a question, not chastising the tardiness.

"I think it was a Ranger. Nothing large. Whatever it was, it was a red-and-blue, and it wasn't even a fast one at that."

He sighed deeply, and it seemed that the air was suddenly sorrowful and a bit terse. "Truscott...I gave you a map. It has the locations of every single patrol camera in the greater Los Angeles County area. Didn't you consult it before leaving?"

"I did," she responded quietly, unable to meet his serene gaze. She hated how He could make her feel so regretful and yet Himself be so calm and collected. Nothing was ever out of place with Him, and He was never demanding; He only ever requested things, but they always got done. He was always trying to be positive, and everyone would obey Him simply because He was both a gifted public speaker and a very generous man. He was very willing to give out reward for the smallest of tasks that were accomplished for Him, even going so far as to give one hundred dollars to someone for taking His trashcan outside to the dumpster down the road, a simple task that took less than five minutes to accomplish. Never was anyone dissatisfied, and if they were, He worked His very hardest to right His wrongs and shortcomings.

"I looked at the map," she continued, sighing, gently drawing the chair to his right outward to sit in it heavily. "But the cameras are so small and pointless. I can outrun almost anything that decides to give chase. A simple Ranger was nothing to me."

He gazed up at the ceiling, as if deep in thought. She glanced across the table at the brunette, noting that her eyes had been trained on Him. She turned back to his attention almost immediately.

"Truscott...I realize that it must be frustrating for you and Stewart to have to maintain silence and secrecy. I loathe it just as much as you both do. But...even as I can excuse the tardiness, since you have been dedicated and motivated the entire time we've been here, I cannot simply overlook the Ranger. Imagine how you would have hurt yourself if you were caught. They would have most likely put you to death for breaking such a hard-fast rule. Imagine what it would have done to Stewart over here," he said calmly, gesturing to his left. "Imagine what it would be like, even for me. You're like a sister to me, Lilly Truscott, and I don't want to lose you because of something a bit foolish."

Lilly sighed and hung her head, ashamed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so reckless. I...just...I'm frustrated. It's stupid that we don't have freedom anymore."

"I understand," He replied. "It's tough trying to keep quiet and follow orders from the feds. You're only twenty-three, after all. You have a voice, and it deserves to be heard."

Lilly sighed again. "Miley...I'm sorry. I won't do it again. Not...not after remembering Ollie..."

She struggled to maintain her composure. Her shoulders buckled and wobbled. It looked as though she were a very weak butterfly, a leather-clad butterfly, sickened and blackened by the world as it had become.

"Lilly...he's not really gone," Miley said quietly. Her voice was low, but pure and vibrant even in the quiet tones she spoke in. She seemed so young and vibrant, just in what she said. She _was _so young and vibrant, a constant source of boundless energy that she freely shared with others.

"He's not gone. He's still here. With us. In our hearts and in our minds."

"Oliver Oken was a valued member of our cult. He risked his life every day that he lived, working as one of the government officials, our ear to the inside. I cannot begin to express my debt to him as an individual and as a team player. But. His death has made me realize that we need to be stronger, faster, smarter, more powerful in every possible way so that it doesn't happen again. I have taken additional precautions to ensure that it never happens again, and I intend to allow you two to take your full revenge on the government that obliterated him for having a voice, just as I intend to take my own relish in giving the monarchy hell."

"But why you? What could you have against the Angel of Death that could cause you to create a cult?"

He still gazed at the ceiling. His nose twitched from a slight itch, though He made no move to scratch it, letting His hands rest behind His head like a pillow against the hard oak embellishment grooved into the backing of the chair.

"It's a little more personal for me than it is for you two ladies. You both want freedom just as much as the next person, but first, nobody else has the vision, the ability to take the challenge, that I do, and second, I have a very personal reason for fighting against the uprising."

"Is it too personal for me to ask?" Miley asked softly, curiously, almost as if afraid of the answer.

"It is not too personal for either of you to ask, and I will only answer the question to you two ladies. However, this is highly personal and confidential information, because, you see...my father died as a result of the uprising. He...he was a great man, and..." He closed His eyes slowly, swallowing gently, collecting His thoughts. "And I loved him until the day it changed. He taught me so much, and then he was taken from me. I know not exactly how it happened, only that he never came home. It wasn't that long ago, but I began planning from then on. And December Twentieth, Twenty-Twelve, just as had been predicted, the sun moved into the thirteenth astrological house, and all chaos ensued as the take-over happened. I hid underground for a year, and had enough time to construct what is around us today. Money...I have a large inheritance. My father died. My mother moved away, leaving everything to me. I only hear from her once per several months, and I don't even know if she has come to terms with what has become of the country she once loved and trusted. Even I myself haven't come to terms with it, which is why I strive to overturn it. I want things to become better. Back when President Obama came up with the ideas to better the country, the first President of the United States of America in a very long time to have a brain, one that our country could finally be proud of, had a voice. He was African-American, a 'colored' man, a 'minority', and he was not afraid to speak his mind. He risked his life every day he was alive, and he was due for a second term, you remember. Then the report came out that he was dead. All hell broke loose. Chaos just fucking everywhere. And that's why I've got to stop it. Because the chaos was followed by a calm, and this currently is only the eye of the storm. The other side of the hurricane is coming around, and I'm going to be the frontline against the government that condemned its people to lives of horrid, putrid, stinking damnation. I hate it. I _fucking _hate it," He finished in a whisper, dragging His feet off the table, dropping his gloved fists against the oak tabletop, the dull thud echoing around the room. The girls were silent.

"And I enlisted your help, Miley, my Star, because I knew, I _knew_, that you and I could see on a level playing field. It was an unorthodox reason, sure, but I knew that you and I had the same message to share, and I know that you'll be able to help me maintain non-violence.

"And I enlisted your help, Lilly, my Shadow, because you and Miley are such close companions, such ideal opposites and yet such an amazing pair. You're the fighter, the bite behind her bark, the strength that will help carry this mission out. You are the one who will aid me with the violence when the time comes, and God permitting, God damn it all, I will personally see to it that you get the biggest fucking gun I can possibly come across.

"You two together, the friendship you share, the prowess you command, the image that you stand for, is phenomenal. My image, my dream, my plan is nothing more than a blueprint for what I wish to accomplish. I have nothing to aid me in my grand scheme, though I am the grand architect. That is where you come in. It is a completely unorthodox and obscene plan that will charm tens, hundreds, thousands, millions into believing that there will be a better tomorrow. Now you understand my plan. You understand who I am and what I am. You understand my reasoning and my argument. And so I ask you one more time, just as I have twice before today, once on the day I called for you to meet with me for the formation of the cult, and once for the formation of this plan, will you aid me in my endeavor?"

They both gazed at Him as He glared down the table, lines of fire jetting from His eyes in furious agony and sheer determination at the success of His plot. Lilly laid her hands on His right fist.

"I hate the thing that our country has become. I hate even more how it came to be this way. The bloodshed isn't over. This war is ours. And I will fight, even if it means my death."

Miley followed suit with her hands on His left fist.

"I know that you have faith in me, and I have as much faith in you. We have everything to gain, and nothing to lose. And I will do everything I can to help you, until death do I fail, Kitten."

He blinked slowly and the blue contacts distorted his eyes to a purplish color of rage and joy; the girls immediately knew that his chocolate-colored eyes had altered colors to a more reddish hue that could not be canceled out by the blue in the contact irises. His pupils had dilated and he broke into a satisfied grin, still glaring daggers down the table in his ferocity, his sheer, overwhelming passion.

"Thank you, ladies. I appreciate your work so much, and I am terribly in your debt."

He gave them each a light, thankful peck on the cheek, and they both blushed; to be kissed in such a way by their leader was a high honor in his book, and one that he had only ever bestowed on them once before, when they had first accepted his hair-brained notion. The plan, the future, and their fates were all sealed with those two light pecks, and as he stood and gently freed his hands, jumping onto and then striding down the table with light, quiet knocks of rubber against solid oak, he left in his wake a very powerful, commanding aura.

"Miley, Lilly, I do apologize," he said, stopping at the far end of the table. "I don't mean to leave you both so soon, but unfortunately, I have a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach that something is not going to be going very well down below if I don't go speak with the others below deck. Perhaps Butters misplaced some cables or papers. Whatever it is, I beg pardon that I may leave without any hard feelings," he paused to backflip over the chair that stood at the end of the table, landing very precisely and steadily on his boot-clad feet, "and that you will forgive me terribly for having to leave you so suddenly."

He gently tapped the elevator button, his back to the doors. Both girls blinked in surprise; they had never seen him do anything remotely athletic, let alone flip backwards over a high-backed solid-oak chair and land on his feet which were six inches further off the ground than they should have been. The doors opened and he stepped backwards once, jamming a button that shut the doors immediately and whisked the small box downward toward the warehouse and the arena. They blinked again at the doors, then looked at each other.

"He's definitely a leader, alright."

"He never fails to amaze me," Miley replied. Lilly glanced at the clock. One-forty-one in the morning.

"So, should you get around to writing your song, then?"

"Oh! That! Yeah...maybe. I don't know. I mean...I know what I want to say, but it's tough to put to words."

"What style music is it?"

"It's a hard-rock song. I know that he's into the metal stuff, but that's a little too heavy for me, I guess."

"Well, no matter what you say, just remember to speak your mind," Lilly replied confidently. "You'll think of something, Miley; you always do."

The brunette nodded slowly, gazing off into the empty space immediately over Lilly's left shoulder. "Speak my...mind! Lilly, that's it!"

"What's it?"

The brunette flew across the table and knocked her friend's chair over, pinning the blonde to the ground rather suddenly and painfully in a bear-hug. Lilly gasped and squirmed a bit, trying to alleviate the pain in the back of her head and hip.

"Miley, what's gotten into you?"

"A feeling, Lilly! I have a feeling now! Come on! We've gotta get to the studio!"

Miley latched her hand onto Lilly's wrist and took off in a dead run for the doors. The blonde was suddenly dragged to her feet and yanked away from the fallen chair, which scudded against the ground loudly as her foot caught the leg and dragged it around. The elevator opened and whisked the girls downward to the lodging floor, where the studio room was housed, where Miley thence continued writing her song.

"Sir, we've got it! We got the shipment of equipment!"

"Excellent. Nice jingle too. Now, where are we with musicians?"

"Well...that's the problem. We have our singer, we have backup dancers, we have lead and rhythm guitars, but...we're missing drums and a bass guitar. We even have a violin, but nobody to fill for the main body of the music."

Kitten scratched the back of his head, toying with a clump of clean, but spiked and styled hair. His hair was mostly black, but it had blue and purple streaked within it at random locations for a totally outrageous look.

"We're missing drums and a bassist?"

The boy nodded. "Yes, sir...I'm sorry, sir."

"No, no, it's alright. I might actually have a solution. Butters!"

A tall, muscular man with a dark tan and long, bouncy orange hair stepped around a large steel rigging structure that housed several gigantic halogen bulbs, spotlights that would focus on the members of the band as they took to their various instruments. The dance-team was practicing on the floor below, about sixty feet further below the warehouse, complete with soundproofing and stadium-like sound quality. Everything was ready to go, other than the setlist, and now, the instruments.

The one called Butters stepped up to Kitten. "You called, sir?"

"Ah, yes. When was the last time you picked up a guitar?"

"Two days ago...but I was just messing around with it. I don't really play."

"If I got you tabs, could you do it?"

"Well...it depends on how hard the song is."

"It's for Miley. Do it for Miley."

He hesitated, looking left, then right, shoulders rolling oddly. "I could give it a try, I guess."

"That's what I'm talking about," Kitten cried in eager happiness. He clapped Butters a high-five and grinned widely. "Alright, I'll get you a copy of Miley's tabs translated from her sheet music. Sound good?"

"Whatever, bro."

He shrugged and walked away, looking nonplussed. The boy was astonished.

"You know Miley Stewart?"

"Of course. Don't you?"

"Not personally. What's she like?"

"Amazing. She's like the world's finest chocolates all baked to perfection and sealed into one small, perfect box."

The boy was drooling rather heavily, much like a bulldog. "Wow...she sounds just amazing."

"Well, I would think so, since that's what I called her too." Kitten winked at the boy.

"So, that only leaves yours truly."

"For what?"

"Well, Butters can do bass. I'll fill as a drummer."

"Sir...no offense, but...can you do it?"

"I used to play a little bit back when I was younger. I think I can still do it. I'm only twenty-two, you know."

"But, sir...this is big. HUGE. You just said it's Miley Stewart, the famous popstar. How...what...what is she going to think?"

"She's going to think it's a fabulous idea," a strong, slightly taunting voice called. Kitten glanced over his shoulder and smiled.

"How's the song coming?"

"Better now that Lilly's on the job," the brunette replied, standing to his left, her right arm wrapping around his shoulder. His left moved comfortably around the left side of her waist, and she gazed at the boy.

"Who is this?"

"This is a very ecstatic fan of yours, I do believe. I've nicknamed him Shorty. He's only thirteen, am I right?"

The boy nodded, eyes as big as saucers, stunned out of speech. Miley chuckled.

"Well, you already know Kitten, which means you must be gawking at me."

"You're...you're...you're _her_."

"Yep. Surprised?"

He nodded slowly, nearly dropping his clipboard. Miley turned back to Kitten, giggling.

"So, um...what was that I overheard about needing a drummer?"

"I volunteered myself for the part. I used to play as a kid, and I was a huge metal-head, with the long hair and the head-banging and everything. It's not going to be so hard to adjust, is it?"

Butters came back over. "Hey, bro, there's someone requesting you in the rehearsal room. They need you to sort something out."

"Can do. Who's asking, and who's telling?"

"The person on the walkie-talkie says her name is Skippy, and the one who's requesting you for clarification is one called Gaff."

"Skippy called, Gaff requested. Got it. Thanks, bro."

"No problem. See you."

"I'll get those tabs to you ASAP."

Butters nodded and moved away, calling out concernedly at some other workers who were about his age. They were either goofing off or had misplaced the delicate equipment.

"Alrighty, then. Miley, care to join me?"

She pecked him on the cheek, just as he had done to her not all that long before. "Don't mind if I do," she replied smoothly, ruffling the boy's hair. He grumbled a bit and straightened it out, following them with the clipboard tucked importantly under his arm. He only stood to Kitten's elbow, but he was very intelligent, and had a go-to-it attitude that lacked fear of retribution and regard for age boundaries. Even if he was thirteen years old, he was not afraid to lecture someone of double his age, as he had done a couple times previously.

He slipped into the elevator with the couple, their arms still linked comfortably around each other. Neither had specific, heart-felt feelings for the other, but they were on first-name terms, and they believed that they would be comfortable with one another no matter what the circumstances. The same could be said of Kitten and Lilly, and especially of Lilly and Miley, who had grown up in separate homes as sisters in all but blood. The only reason Kitten fit into the equation is because he brought everyone together and worked all the bugs out. He was the final voice of reason and the one who made everything seem alright, even at its darkest.

"So...what exactly are you being called for, sir?"

"I couldn't tell you, Shorty. All I know is that I'm wanted to sort something out. Maybe Magic is busy making mischief again."

Shorty fell silent. Magic was Kitten's sister, and Butters was his brother. There was no way anyone would order either of them around except for Kitten, the eldest, and there was no way they'd listen to anyone other than him. Even his authority was questionable sometimes in their eyes. They were all adults and all deserved their own voices. But they followed him, since he'd always been the big brother. They couldn't really live without him, not after their mother had moved away and their father died. They literally only had each other and the underground, and they often spent days alone under the intense concrete gridwork that built the underground structure. It was fairly often that Kitten wouldn't ever get to meet new members of the cult or those undergoing the induction process until months after they'd originally started, even though he made a strong-hearted attempt at getting around to introduce himself to everyone and to check up on everyone at least once a week. It seemed like it wasn't very often for him to be showing everyone some sunshine on his face, but he was a very busy man, and in the past few weeks of planning the revival, he'd been traveling in secret and forming other sectors of underground cults, all who obeyed him, all who were loyal. At least, that's what he said. Nobody ever questioned Kitten with anything, not even his name. For even as his name was light and fluffy, he was equally dark and deadly. He could kill a man faster than kiss him, and even as he tried to be polite and respectful to others and their possessions, even as he tried not to snap and lose it, once in a while it had to happen for his sanity's sake.

The elevator reached the arena. It opened its doors and standing before them was an electrician wearing a blue jump-suit, a yellow plastic hard-hat, and a tool-belt made of leather that had screws, nuts, bolts, a drill, and a stapler within its many pockets.

"You! Kitten, right?"

"Yes, that is I. Who are you?"

"Gaff. I called for you. What the hell kind of operation are you running here, dipshit?"

A girl shoved her way in front of the electrician, pulling Kitten and Miley out of the elevator. Shorty followed quickly in their wake, the electrician still yelling at the spiky-haired man.

"Forgive me, sir. He just got out of the academy and went through orientation all this week. It seems he has a complaint about the structure of the lighting fixtures we're going to utilize.

"Damn right! What the fuck kind of Mickey Mouse job do you have going on here?"

"Gaff, please, profanity is an extremity in my book. Everything is fixable. Besides, have you not noticed whom we're in the presence of?"

The man looked at the brunette that was still linked comfortably and willingly by Kitten's side. He gasped.

"Ms. Stewart! You...you're real!"

"Well, kinda, yeah. I mean, if I weren't, how could I be here, right?"

"But...but...this is..."

"Perhaps the reasoning behind the arena is a bit more clear now. Skippy, back to your post; your dancers need you. Condition them. Star, if you will, please join them and coach them. Shorty, follow us. Gaff, lead me to the problem at hand."

They all parted into their groups. Kitten followed Gaff to the colossal intricacy that created the geometric interlinking of millions of triangles made of solid steel piping; all the construction had been created so that it could be broken down, slipped together, and carted around as needed. The pieces only measured three feet long at most, so that they could all fit on the elevator, and had been numbered specifically according to position. The end result was to be a gigantic arch that would have thousands of glowing lights hanging over the performers, specifically over the star performer of the show.

"So, Gaff, what's the problem?"

"Well, look, sir."

Kitten scratched his head, looking at the joists in the rigging. "I'm not sure I see the problem."

"It's in the linking, sir. Look. If I slip this coupler open and then jiggle it just a little," he said, demonstrating. The coupling link came apart with a light click, and the joist fell out of its housing, separating one three-foot-long segment from the rest of the giant arch. "You see the problem. Imagine if these things are blown open or are mistakenly left unlatched. The weight of the lights coupled with the pulse of the decibels would be enough to rattle the entire structure loose and crush the stage. Everyone would die or be severely injured."

"And why did you call me down here for this?"

"Because it is a serious issue which I don't know if I can resolve."

"I think it's easier than you're making it out to be."

Kitten reached behind him for a short length of thin rope. He recoupled the joists, then looped the rope around two of the triangular cross-braces, tying the loop tightly closed with a simple knot.

"Now, with that one rope in place, uncouple the joists and see if it disconnects."

Gaff tried. He tugged on the piece with all his might. He even called two other engineers over to assist him. Nothing they did got the piece to budge.

"See, Gaff. You overcomplicated the matter in thinking it would have to be restructured. Trust me: sometimes, the simplest of things can be the crux of a large problem. My father often spoke to me about a comedian he listened to, one who was of amusement to him when he was young, and he said that for one of the jokes, the comedian used a record-player as the punch-line. He kept adding speakers to this record-player until he had filled the world with them, and then recalled that the only way to read the record was through a sensitive, diamond-tipped needle that fed into a translation arm. So he thought 'Hey...maybe it's the needle.' In this case, Gaff, it most certainly was the needle. Just think simple. Keep it easy. Sometimes, maybe it's just the needle." He patted the stunned electrician on the shoulder and stood up, walking away.

"Oh, and if you want a little advice, from me to you, I'd suggest running the cables through the piping rather than around it. Much cleaner and more sophisticated. Plus, when the cable twists and winds, it runs the risk of breaking and shorting out. Miley wouldn't want that to happen midway through the concert, would she?"

He winked at the electrician, then continued walking away. He spotted the dancers all standing with crossed arms at their positions, Miley standing behind Skippy, the instructor. Skippy was giving them a bit of a lecture in what exactly was being asked of them.

"...you need to feel it. Deep in your body, down by your toes, the tips of your fingers, all the way up to the top of your head and the middle of your belly. It should radiate. You should _breathe_ Miley. Every move you make reflects her movements; the dancers are merely an extension of 'the man,' which in this case is Miley. We aren't here to be perfect, we're here to be professional. And professionalism is a sense of knowing who you are and who she is, because if you don't have the answer to either of those questions, the show looks like shit."

Most of the dancers were either skeptical or gazing at Miley in stunned silence. Skippy rolled her eyes.

"Would you rather that she teaches you for the day?"

Most of them nodded. Miley laughed.

"Actually, ladies, I can't today. I've gotta get back up to the studio and finish writing this new song I've been working on. Skippy here should be able to keep you all going. Just listen to what she says and stay smiling."

"Remember," Kitten voiced, sliding up behind the proud singer, "we're doing this for the world. Something needs to change, and only you guys can help us get there. Can you do it?"

They all nodded seriously. Kitten beamed.

"Wonderful. Well, I think our work here is done for now. I may be back after a while, but I've gotta go help Ms. Stewart write her song."

Miley chuckled. "It's like you could read my mind."

He winked. "Some might say. I just call it intuition."

He spun and ventured toward the elevator, the doors of which were still wide open. It always stood open at the arena's floor. It had to. People needed quick access to get in and out. Often, none of the other buttons were pressed by other cult members. The arena button had already been replaced once from overuse, and it was already starting to fade again.

Miley stepped into the elevator immediately behind Kitten. He pushed the button for the dorm rooms and the elevator whisked them upwards to the correct floor. The doors opened and he strode away very quickly, the singer having trouble keeping up. He made his way quickly to the studio door and wrenched it open, startling Lilly as she sat in a chair at the mixing board scribbling notes on a pad of paper.

"What key, what tempo, what style?"

"Um...I...it's..."

"C key, about one hundred thirty beats per minute, hard-rock."

"Is it a party song?"

"Sort-of. It's a song that explains our purpose, and it's the first song I want us to do when we play in the Stadium. It's about revolution, about standing up for oneself."

"What do you have so far?"

Lilly tossed three crumpled sheets of paper to Kitten. He caught them and unfolded one dexterously with one hand, juggling the other two with his left hand.

"Good ideas, but it's not compulsive enough..."

He dropped the sheet and unfolded the other two, each with only one hand, and began reading them simultaneously.

"Hmm...the way this thing starts off is a bit wrong. How about we do something unusual?"

"What do you mean?"

"Have you ever heard of a multi-track song?"

"What?"

"A band I was once very fond of did something called 'multi-track songs' which are songs that are cut at certain points for length reasons, and they all have different titles, but they are merely parts, or movements, of that one mega-song. They would often devote entire albums to one particular song, and once devoted two albums to one long song, almost like a story. I think...I have an idea for you. Remember what I said in the board-room about a hurricane?"

"Yes. Very clearly."

"Well, think about the destruction a storm brings with it. You can call the entire song The Storm and break it into four parts: The Onslaught, Surreal Calm, The Second Attack, and The Aftermath. Or something along those lines."

"It's brilliant! Do you have any ideas?"

"The first part of the storm would have to be something fast and totally rocking, something to get the crowd up and on their feet. It has to talk about what happened to change us; build, destroy, repeat. But it has to be censored so that it takes some analysis to really understand. The second part, the eye, is what we've got now. Talk about how it's not over and the war's just begun, again with censorship. The third part would be as rocking, if not more so, than the first part, and it would be the upheaval. It's about how the destruction came back around, but the wind shifted directions. It can all be highly symbolic."

"I love it! But what about the fourth part?"

"Optional. That would be like what devastation and rebuilding we have to do once the storm is over. All the hardships that we've overcome, what we've accomplished, and what we now have to fix and rebuild for a better future."

"That's deep. That's amazing. I love it," she gushed. "This is going to be huge."

"But I'll leave it to you to write. Even though I came up with tons of lyrics in my youth...none of them would fit."

"Well...maybe there's room for a duet?"

"I think that spot should be reserved for your best friend," Kitten replied calmly. Lilly blushed crimson. _Me? Duet? With Miley?_

"Well, there's an idea! How about it, Lilly? Think your voice is up to it?"

"I...I don't know."

"Tell you what. Figure out the words, then see if there's an option open. Come up with a melody and a tempo and I'll help you figure out the rest. It's one thing to write lyrics, it's another to do the entire band's parts.

"Kitten, wait," Lilly called. He paused as he moved to leave, his diamonds and bands glimmering and flashing in the light of the overhead bulbs.

"Are you sure you're committed to doing this? I mean, imagine the trouble you could get into if we get caught."

"That's the intention. We get caught in an act of public defiance, and we set an example for the rest of the country. If they see us doing it, they're going to wonder 'why can't we?' It's a very simple domino effect, and we're the finger that pokes it all over. This concert is the first domino, and I fully intend to bring this government down. We have to be defiant, obnoxious, obscene, and downright unruly, but we have to maintain non-violence for as long as possible, maintain our sense of purpose and objective. Besides...I have an odd feeling that I won't have too much trouble to contend with. I have more fear for you two and the others belowground. I...I'm putting you all in danger with this scheme of mine, and perhaps not even for the right reasons."

"Hush," Miley said sternly. "Lilly and I elected to be here, we elected to do this, to stand up, to throw down. We elected to assist you, and we will do so no matter what it takes. To the end," she finished strongly, holding out her right hand, pointing finger extended, jabbing at Kitten's face. He smiled, volumes of positive energy and lightheartedness flooding the room. Lilly also pointed at him, mumbling "To the end" like her friend. He held out his finger, tapping the ends of their index fingers individually, eyes bright and sparkling, the blue contact lenses shining brightly and excitedly in the anticipation of the first step in the plan.

"To the end," he replied quietly. He then turned back around and slipped quietly out the door, his footsteps skipping their way down the hall with a very giddy, almost school-boy-ish attitude.

"He never really gets down or upset, does he?"

"Not really. Something's always there to boost him back up."

"He's just so happy all the time. I don't see how he does it without snapping or losing it."

"It's gotta be tough for him to be a beacon of light for everyone."

"But he does it with a wink and a smile," Lilly replied, grinning in the happy energy of the atmosphere. Miley turned and flopped into a chair beside the blonde, excited at the prospect of a new, multi-track song.

"Alright, let's do this. First up: The Onslaught."

It was only about two in the morning when the first word hit the page, but it was well after four by the time the entire song had been written and a melody thrown together at the desired tempo. It was nowhere near perfect, and Miley persuaded Lilly to side with her in wanting Kitten's opinion on the song as well, but they were both tired from being awake in the middle of the night. And they exited the studio, flicking the light switch off, the pad of paper still sitting on the sound board. Both girls yawned and stretched as they entered Miley's room, shutting the door quietly behind them, where they proceeded to change their outfits into something more comfortable for sleeping in. The light darkened on voice command, and the girls curled up beside each other, warm and cozy, in the same, large, fluffy bed that led them to drift off into dreamland, comfortable and at complete peace with themselves and the world. The last thing Miley remembered before drifting off was her hand twisting a strand of Lilly's back over her ear before black consumed her, and she dropped off the cliff of consciousness into the sea of dreams and memories, where forever was both an instant and infinite, and nothing mattered anymore.

* * *

**_Wasn't really convinced with the way I ended it. I'll only update this thing on the weekends, since my JN is easier to write and I'm more engaged with it. Anyways, enjoy what you can. I love readers and reviewers, and anything and everything is welcome as criticism or feedback. :)_**


	2. The Other Side Of Me

**_A/N: Word Count: 10,011 for the body of the story. I met my 10k goal this time, and I will continue attempting to meet the 10k goal. I feel like this chapter wasn't finished with a strong ending, but it's because I ran out of things to say. Mental note: write more detail, slow down action. Homeric similes are my best friend. Check. But I'll be completely honest with you all: 10k words in 24 hours (technically, more like 4 hours...) is NOT an easy task to achieve. Trust me. That's 2500 words an hour, and that's slow for me, but thinking of what to say is very difficult when I have to have about 16 to 17 pages per chapter before ending it. It's not easy to pull off._**

**_Shoutout to lil-ying-fa: Glad to see that you liked it. You're the only one to have reviewed this story so far. :)_**

**_Alright, enough talking. Get to reading. :)_**

* * *

The sun rose over the horizon, bathing the eastern seashore with a gorgeous and deliciously warm ray of morning sunshine, that made the birds open their eyes and the flowers perk up their buds, the petals unfurling. Unfortunately, the Monarch of the United States, the so-called "Angel of Death" himself, was already wide-awake and restless. He sat at his desk, contemplating the fate of the country. Everything was proceeding as planned, and he had planned for it all. Everything was accounted for, all money properly allocated, all other congressmen and representatives eliminated or else hushed up with military-backed threats. Everything was under his total control, and he ruled the empire.

There was a knock on his door. He had requested that at least two armed guards stand, fully armored and with loaded weapons, outside the doors that led into the office. He couldn't risk an uprising. Not even a small one. Nobody needed to be getting ideas. Especially not after the first riot. He had regretted to sign the paper, but he was required to do so under his own legislature. He could not go against his own law, and he had unwillingly signed twenty government officials to death that day for aiding the upheaval. It would not ever happen again under his watch. His army and guards would see to it. His strict rules mandated it. He was in total control, and nothing would bring him to his knees.

"Your Excellency, you have a visitor."

The man scowled. He was in his mid-fifties, his gray-streaked black hair in match with his charcoal-colored suit and blood-red tie. He was the leader of the country, and even in his mid-fifties, he was a force to be reckoned with. The oak desk he sat at said so. The flag of the United States of America that stood to the west of his window said so. The emblem scribed into the navy-blue carpet said so. But even with all that, even with the highest quality leather couches and white, seemingly doorless room he sat in, the high-backed black leather chair and the state-of-the-art computer system, even the neatly filed papers and nametag on his desk could not compare to the anger pulsing from his eyes with each beat of his cold, black heart. Every compression was like a thunderclap, and every cell of blood like a dark and ominous cloud.

"I specifically requested that no visitors disturb me today. I have an important speech I must present in a short while and I will not be delayed from assuring I am ready."

He could imagine the guard outside the door fidgeting. He was a big, beefy black man, rippling with muscles and holstering at least four different machine guns of some sort, with a pistol on each side of his waistband and enough bullets to gun down a mob. He was literally armed to the teeth; there was a concealed switchblade knife holstered inside his left cheek against his teeth. It clicked slightly when he talked, but was virtually undetectable and invisible; it was made of porcelain and could cut a limb like slicing warm butter.

"Sir...it's your son, sir."

"Which one?"

"The eldest, sir."

The man sighed. His son? Now? What could be so urgent? He was utterly devoted to his children, no questioning that, and they were all given the utmost protection and whatever their hearts desired, but it always seemed that they had something they needed from him. Most often, it was the eldest who came forth; his siblings had given up hope of having an open but civilized conversation with the man they once lovingly called daddy.

"Allow him in."

The door swung inward, temporarily disrupting the seamless wall as the boy entered. He was a man, no longer a child or an adolescent, and was dressed very formally in a custom tailored blue suit with a black tie. His platinum Rolex watch glinted in the sunshine and the light overhead, and he sniffed a bit, gazing levelly at his father. The boy looked like his dad, certainly, though his hair was longer and thicker. He had coiffed it back that morning, and seemed to be very calm, though the man before the monarch had become an absolute expert at concealing his emotions and was often tight-lipped and level-headed. He was no longer the happy man he had once been, not since his father had single-handedly decimated so many people with only the assistance of a small but powerful army.

"Your Excellency," the man stated, bowing slightly to his father, who sighed wearily. The years were beginning to stack on, and yet the man still treated his father like a god. Which by all means was to be expected, if not before as the leader of a household, then now as the leader of the world and the controller of the entire United States.

"Son...dismiss the formalities. I'm not the monarch when we are in this room."

"Unfortunately, Your Excellency, your children now see you as such no matter what room in this house we live in. The Shrine of Blood is not a place for the faint of heart or the grand in dream, and it takes a great deal of sacrifice on the part of your daughter especially to put up with the pressures of being eighteen and the child of the world's dictator."

"Son, please...you make my chest clench up when you say such things, and I don't think it's a forewarning of a heart-attack." The man frowned at his son, standing from his chair and looking at the boy a bit bitterly. "You always treat me like I am a bad man."

The boy's voice was level, but the emotion imbued into his words was as icy as his father's heart: "I must treat you as you have demanded to be treated."

"Young man, that is no way to talk to your father, monarch or not."

"And this is certainly no way for you to be meeting with your son. Or have you not noticed that your other son, the one who once adored you and longed to fill your shoes, has stopped talking? Or perhaps that your once proud little girl, who always, _always _called you her 'best friend' and cracked stupid jokes about your relationship, now can't even bear to look you in the eyes and call you her 'favoritest daddy' anymore, just as she referred to herself as your 'favoritest daughter' once not so long ago. Once upon a nicer time, Your Excellency, you were a father to us. You were the beacon of light that we followed. You were the power that we believed in. But once upon today, you have now contorted your image into that of hatred and misery. I can no longer have calm, personal talks about my life with you, and I am just one year above the legal drinking age which you intend to raise to twenty-five. Do you really think that I can show my support for you as a man, father or monarch, when you put innocent lives to death for no reason?"

"Stop right now, young man!" the monarch thundered. His son had maintained a calm, collected voice, and it was this sense of both regard and disregard, of the man being scrutinized and trashed while being talked to so plainly and calmly, that drove him insane. His son had turned against him, just as his siblings had followed his footsteps away from the man that they could no longer call their blood.

"You have no right to talk to me in such a manner. You have no idea how much trouble I go through each day to assure that your lives are taken care of, that you all live to see another day. Don't you see how what I've done for you has created a brighter future for you all?"

"The only thing I see, Your Excellency, is fifty million people who are all mindless robots that are intended to do your bidding. You have taken advantage of the public's ignorance and stupidity and now brainwashed them into submission. You have now falsely presumed that your children should thank you for their future when we cannot. We cannot overlook that which you have created, that what you have done. Perhaps you've forgotten, Your Excellency, but I begged you on my knees, with tears in my eyes and a plummeting, sickened feeling in my heart. I choked out the plea to release the members of the revolt because I knew one of them in particular personally. We were close friends, Your Excellency, and you took him away from me. The day that you damned yourself in my eyes was the day you sentenced Special Classification Oken to death."

"I had no choice, son! What would it have looked like if I would have let him go?"

"The people would have had a chance to believe in a brighter future. And now you've crushed everyone's hopes and dreams, including those of your children. But it's not just us that it affects. That black man in the hallway, the one that you yell at and curse out, the one who is always so kind and respectful to you, the one that I pay extra money to for dealing with your bullshit...he's a true American, Your Excellency. He still believes in you. He believes in a brighter tomorrow, a possible escape from this hellhole of a prison you've bound your country in. He too has hopes and dreams and a family that he must go home to at the end of each day, and it is a blessing to them all if he comes home alive that evening. You have created the world's most powerful, most secure, most feared empire, and you've destroyed the inhabitants that support you so unwillingly. Perhaps, Your Excellency, you need to take a step back from your position of power, step out of your own shoes and into his. Because it is not just your children you have neglected and pissed on, no. No, sir, you have pissed on your entire country, and you are now proceeding to laugh at the clean-up effort."

"If you so much as say one more word, I will have you escorted from the premises," the older man said hollowly. They both knew it was an empty threat. His son was the only one who could bring him to his knees.

"Ah, excellent, just the way you drove mom away from you. Don't you remember what that did to your other children? I was already almost an adult and it wasn't such a big pressure for me to deal with, but your son was crushed especially, and your daughter resorted to using sex and alcohol as a way out of the pain. You weren't there for your kids. You weren't even there for your wife. And now the same prophecy reflects on your control of your country. You won. You own the place. But you aren't there for your people. You don't take anything they may have to say into consideration. This country is a fucking death camp, Your Excellency, and if you don't do something to change it, I will use all force necessary to tell you to stand the fuck down."

"What are you fucking me for, boy? Is this some kind of sick fucking joke to you?"

"I assure you, Your Excellency, I am not attempting to pull the wool over your eyes. I may not be able to call you father anymore, but I at least maintain a shred of respect and dignity for my elders, and that unfortunately includes yourself in my book. I am not lying when I say that I will bring you down if necessary. You can either take my hand and follow my lead to change the world that you've created, or you can doom yourself to eternal damnation while the sound of crackling fire surrounds you and consumes you from the outside and the inside simultaneously. This is not a death threat. This is a warning. It is the only one you will get from me. If you refuse to heed it, I will do whatever is necessary to see to it that you are removed and another is instated in your place."

"You've crossed the line, boy. It is one thing to insult and damn your father, but to outright defy him? I will have you disciplined for this, boy. No son of mine will talk to me in this manner, and no son of mine will threaten me with upheaval."

"Then you have damned yourself, Your Excellency. And if no son of yours shall do such things, then I am no longer your son."

The man in the blue suit scraped his hands from the base of his skull back toward the front of his hairline, and the light, helmet-like encasement of mousse crumbled and flaked away. The man's hair now resembled a black, blue, and purple sea urchin, tufts of clean, thick hair standing at cartoonish angles of their own accord, the roots had become so adjusted to the arrangement of the hair.

"What the hell is this folly, boy?"

"I forewarned you. You called my bluff. Problem is, it wasn't a bluff. I will be cleaning out my office and my room, and I will be moving away where I will meet with my cult, and we will come back to haunt you, Your Excellency. Do not take a threat from me lightly."

The man turned on his heel, shedding the jacket and pants to the floor, his midnight-blue long-sleeved shirt coming into appearance, the tall, six-inch elevator boots revealed beneath the pant legs, the black jeans with purple stitching and lining coming into existence.

"Boy! What the fuck are you doing? I'm warning you, if you proceed with this plan, I will have no choice but to discipline you. No son of mine will-"

"I'm not your fucking son," the man said over his shoulder. His voice was quiet and lethal, like a thousand razorblades had flown from his mouth and lacerated every available inch of the man's body. He could almost imagine the monarch's hair graying as he opened the door and stepped out. He shut the door and turned to the guard.

"Go home. Take your weapons with you. Do not ask questions. Do not return to work. You may stand before me now, but you very well may not in a few hours. Go. Stay safe. Go into hiding. And protect your wife with your life."

The large man saluted the smaller one in fear and awe. "Y-yes, sir."

"Go. Now."

And without another word, the guard strode down the large white hallway and turned around the corner to the right, heading east toward the front of the building. The smaller man sighed, heart heavy from the result of the conversation with his father, but there was nothing to be done.

"So be it," he muttered. He then strode away contentedly, boots clopping on the floor, the noise echoing in the hall, a loud testimony of the cacophony that rang in the man's head as he exited the premises and located his vehicle, which he straddled and then proceeded to drive quickly away from the Shrine of Blood, the sense of dread and anger now gone from his heart, now replaced by remorse and finality. If this is what it had to come to, so-fucking-be-it.

The graying man stood in his office, stock-still, staring at the space in front of the door where his son stood. The words reverberated around his head, over and over, like a broken record. _I'm not your fucking son. I'm not your fucking son. I'm not your fucking_

He walked over to the desk and pulled out the packet of notes that his speech consisted of. It was a thin packet, only three pages in length, but the man had a very clear memory of every single memorized word and inflection he had to deliver to the public. It would not be easy, especially not in lieu of what his son had just told him. There would be an uprising. An upheaval. The second attempt at overthrowing him from his position as the dictator. And worst of all, his eldest son, the one he'd trusted his life and soul with, was leading the way, brandishing a flag of everything he'd striven to abolish.

_I'm not your fucking son._

The man sighed heavily, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. He no longer had his eldest son anymore. At least he still had his younger son and his only daughter. And yet, it felt the entire opposite.

He depressed the small red intercom button on the phone on his desk. A beep sounded from the speaker, followed by a brief pause. "Sir?"

"Could you send my son into the office?"

"Which one, sir?"

"The younger one. I've just had a bit of a heated argument with my eldest and I need to speak with my other children at some point or another. Please."

The female voice on the end paused for a moment. "He says he will be there shortly."

The man nodded. "Good." And with that, he released the button. He only had to wait several seconds before the door opened silently without a knock or greeting. The graying man looked up into the confused face of his younger son and nodded. "Shut the door, if you don't mind."

The man shut the door, restoring the office to its seamless rounded partition. His orange hair laid in tousled mess atop his head, and he blinked at the man he formerly called his father.

"You wanted me?"

"Yes. It seems your brother has taken it upon himself to organize a revolution against me. What do you know of this?"

The man was silent. He took a moment to form his words, but was far less guarded with his emotional turmoil.

"He's had this plan for months. Ever since you took over that December, the snow never really stopped falling in his own mind. He's working on a plan to overthrow the government, but I've heard the way he talks and I think he wants you to have one more chance before he kills you."

The mop of orange hair quivered. The roots showed and it was badly in need of being redyed. The graying man sighed distastefully.

"Son..."

"Don't call me that."

"What?"

"I said, don't call me that. He told me that you're not our dad anymore."

"He did, did he?"

"Just a moment ago over the phone. He called me through a restricted number and told me that you hadn't listened."

"And he's right. What the hell kind of bullshit stunt is he trying to pull?"

"It's not bullshit," the ginger said slowly. The older man looked fiercely at the younger.

"What the hell are you talking about? Of course it's bullshit! He wouldn't dare defy his own father, monarch or not!"

"Yes he would. He will. I know he will."

"How do you know."

He hesitated. "Because...I've been helping him."

The gray-streaked hair seemed to become more like slate than the original black it had been when he had woken up that morning. "You've been helping him?" the man asked slowly.

"I...I want to help him. He's smart and...and I think that he's right."

"Right about what?"

"About you being a control freak and a bad leader. He doesn't want to kill you, but you may have left him with no choice."

"I have no choice but to act this way!" He was outraged. "He defies his own father and then proceeds to drag his siblings in on this madness. What the fuck kind of Brady Bunch do we have going on here?"

"It's not a joke. It's not a game. We aren't playing around. He's got something you could never in a million years expect as a retaliation act."

"Oh, let me guess. He managed to shrink bombs down to grains of sand and freak the hell out of you all, did he?"

"That's not the main portion, but that is definitely a contributing factor that he is willing to utilize if you don't back down and listen to what he's been telling you for the past three years. Ever since he reached the half-way point of his eighteenth year and you shut him down, he's been scheming and building an army against you."

"I want names, and goddamnit all, if you hide them from me, I'll-"

"Torment me? Torture me? Take away my money, throw away my time? You can call me son, but you're no damn good for me. It's like Michael said all those years ago when he first wrote Dangerous. You're no damn good for me. And I'm willing to accept any punishment you put on me because it just means that my brother is all the more right."

The man bit back several comments that were chomping at the bit to jump out of his throat and down his son's. He silently fumed for a moment, collecting himself.

"So you've sided with him, then? That's it?"

"Yes. I have. I don't like it very much because it seems like a twisted season of Family Feud on crack, but I have. You may be older and wiser, but you've forgotten the words 'by the people, for the people' in your quest for power. There's something that he knows that you don't, and that is what everyone else wants, not just what your selfish endeavors result in."

"I'm running this country as I see best-"

"According to what you yourself see as beneficial to you as an immediate party. Your problem is that you don't bother to stop and consider the consequences of your actions as they affect others, not just yourself. Sure, we all want immediate gratification, but what about everyone else in the country? Are they just dirt?"

"They don't understand the pressure I deal with every day to keep a tight ship-"

"And you've forgotten the pressures of the working class man in your power struggle. _That's _why I sided with him. Not because I hate you. Because I hate who you've become and what you've done with yourself. This isn't right. Nobody should have to live like this. Nobody. Never. Ever."

"Get out."

"Right. Now you're just throwing me out too, like a piece of garbage, just like what you did with mom."

The man froze. "_You take that back!_" he screeched.

"No."

He blanched, utterly stunned. "N-no?"

"No. N. O. No. What part of that didn't you understand?"

The man gawked at his son for having such nerve to further defile the man who had already been reduced by his eldest.

"_Get the fuck out of my office!_"

"I will never be so glad to follow another order in my life," the carrot-top replied, sliding out of the office. The monarch huffed and puffed as he tried to calm himself and his rapidly-beating heart. _Control your blood pressure. Calm down. Nothing to be angry about._

_I'm not your fucking son._

He struggled with himself as the words taunted him again, tumbling about in his mind, laughing at him for being the man he had become.

_I never wanted this. Never. My children should always come first. I can't do this to my kids!_

_I'm not your fucking son._

"I know! I know it, I know it, I know it!" the man cried, falling to his knees on the floor of the office. "I fucked up, son. I know I did! I...but I can't change! I just can't! What would everyone think?"

The man held himself as he knelt in the center of the office. A light knock sounded.

"Sir, we need you out front to get into the limo. We're almost ready to depart for the speech."

He managed to choke out a reply of "Give me one moment" before shivering into his arms.

"I have to fix this...I have to make it right..."

_Fuck him. He's a kid. What the hell does he know?_

Suddenly, the voice in his head made sense. He stood up, straightened up, tightened his tie, and put on his most business-like face for the public eye. He then strode to the door and opened it, stepping out into the hall, where a charming young lady clad in a white blouse and a black skirt with short black heels on her feet stood holding what looked to be an organizer of some sort.

"Alright, Penny. I'm ready."

_(time lapse; doesn't accept the tilde (the squiggly to the left of the 1 key) as a suitable character or word, so I have to modify it and create my own time lapse thingy. :S)_

"...and so, I now conclude with the extended list of rulings that shall be followed without question or revolt, and I bid you all a good day," the speaker on an old radio finished. A tanned arm reached over and pushed the power button, letting the sound box shut down and stop consuming power. The owner sighed, laying down on the porch swing she'd been on her way out to enjoy anyways in the late morning sunshine. She didn't have to work. There was no purpose for it. She had everything she needed and was happy to share it with her friend and room-mate in the single-story house that she'd bought out in the middle of a small, sun-kissed island off the coast of Florida that was thought to be uninhabited. It had large, relaxing palm trees and fresh, clear aquamarine water that was only ten feet deep at most between the shore of the island and the shoreline of the peninsula. She sighed wistfully as she felt the gentle sea breeze of the forbidden fruits of paradise caress her face.

"Heather, are you out here?" a tinkling voice called from inside. She remained silent, her eyelids heavy and her body relaxed. She gazed off the front porch out toward the sea, where nothing but a blue horizon met her gaze.

A head poked from the doorway. The woman it belonged to had dark colored hair that contrasted her sparkling eyes and light-hearted personality. She only stood a bit taller than the lounging blonde, and laughed in amusement at the sight she had.

"Tired this early in the day? Maybe paradise has made us softies, huh?" the dark-haired woman called. Heather shrugged. "I was debating whether or not to get dressed this morning, actually. I figured some nude sunbathing couldn't hurt anything."

Again, the tinkling laughter that sounded so much like a babbling brook met her ears. It was a joyful sound, one that made the darkest day seem light and airy and free of commitment or pain. "Well, other than our guest, that is."

"Guest?"

"Don't you remember? We're supposed to have a visitor in the next hour or so."

The blonde huffed. "Seashell, we're all adults here. I would think your guest would be mature enough to handle the situation."

"I'm actually worried more that you might not be able to handle him," she teased. "And I haven't been called seashell in a long time."

"Michelle...who exactly did you invite out?"

The woman tucked her hair behind her ear, still standing tentatively in the doorway of the house. "You'll find out when my guest arrives, won't you?"

Heather grumbled something about lack of respect. Michelle laughed.

"Just relax. You'll appreciate my guest."

"If you say so."

Michelle went back into the house, the house that Heather Truscott owned and had lived in ever since the overthrow of the government. It was furnished with a complete, fairly modern kitchen, two full bathrooms, a sitting room with a large television, a guest bedroom, and a master bedroom that had its own whet bar. Heather enjoyed living a luxurious life, and with no financial burden to worry about, she had spent the past few years working on her tan and keeping herself fit and active. She frequently did yoga and weight lifting exercises. Michelle, on the other hand, hadn't ever bothered with a tan, not even when she had spent all her available time swimming in the gorgeous waters of the ocean to tone her biceps and quads. She didn't quite have the athletic figure that Heather maintained, but she wasn't a couch potato by any means.

The blonde had fallen into a stupor, nodding off while gazing at her toes as they perched on her feet, toes with nails that were painted very pretty shades of alternating hot pink and periwinkle blue. She had gotten lost in them, thinking about her daughter Lilly, remembering all the time they'd spent together when they'd been a bit younger. It seemed not long ago that everything was fine and dandy, and yet, it was also not so long ago that everything changed for the worse. Ever since the monarchy had been instated, she'd been living out on an island that was rumored to be deserted off the coast of Florida, the sunshine state. Life was gorgeous, and the island was protected by an invisible bubble that only activated at storm warning, meaning that she could sleep cozily in her hammock with fair temperature and no wind while a hurricane slashed at the bubble around her house, the shield generators working their technological magic. She was glad that she had been well taken care of before she had been cast out. Of course, she had found Michelle, and they had worked together to turn the house into a home.

Michelle poked her head back out the door and gazed at her closest friend. The blonde was sleeping peacefully and looked adorable to the older dark-haired woman. She admired her friend's vitality and inner compassion to move with events as they were dictated. The woman never lost hope. The brunette sighed contentedly. She was not in love with the woman in any way beside that of mutual friendship, but it seemed as though they were intimate with each other minus the affections of a couple. They could tell each other everything, could see each other through everything. A closer pair would not be found elsewhere, save for Heather's daughter Lilly and her best friend Miley. Those two were inseparable.

She turned her gaze out toward the ocean and squinted a bit. There seemed to be what looked to be a black dot racing toward them at a fairly high rate of speed, and yet it didn't have enough of a wake in the water to be a boat. Boats would create waves in the ocean water. This object wasn't creating any wake, just a flutter in the water. The longer she watched, and the closer it got, Michelle began to believe that the object was not making any contact with the water save for sea spray and the occasional small wave. And as the vehicle slowed down and the stopped, floating inches above the beach sand, her heart began pounding, for the head that materialized from underneath the sleek, aerodynamic helmet was that of her son, his spiky head of hair sticking out like an erratic spiked ball, the blue and purple streaks glimmering in the almost-midday sunshine.

He stepped off the four-wheeled bike and let the helmet rest gently on the seat, the slight deformation where he had been sitting gradually fading from the spongey seat material beneath the black synthetic rubber seat cover. He trudged clumsily across the sand, his tall boots leaving deep impressions. He mounted the stairs and alighted on the porch very quietly and lightly, making on the the faintest of noises despite the heavy weight of the rubber soles.

"Hey, mom. How are things?"

The woman laughed, forgetting the sleeping homeowner laying to her right, and strode forward eagerly, embracing her son happily. "It's been quiet here for a long time. And now...after all this time...I get to see my little boy...and he's all grown up."

She sighed into his chest and let him go, stepping back. The man looked pale, like he hadn't seen sunshine in a long time, but he seemed to be healthy and at ease.

"So, how is the country?"

He cast his eyes downward, gazing idly at her bare feet. "Badly in need of the upheaval."

"You don't have anything to do with it, do you?"

He had to meet his mother's gaze, which was stern and disapproving. "Actually...I'm the leader."

She gaped. "The leader?"

"Not only that, but my top-ranking members are Ms. Truscott's daughter and her daughter's best friend, America's songbird."

"How are they, by the way?"

"They're doing just fine. I think I need to arrange for them to come out and say hello, but that may not be for a while. We're busy organizing the first attack."

"Son...you can't just go up against the monarch. He'll kill you. He'll kill us all if you step out of line."

"I spoke with him just today."

The woman stiffened. Her son had his hands jammed into his pockets uncomfortably.

"A-and how did that go?"

"He denied my request to surrender and break down the fortress. I told him that I would have no choice but to continue my attack on the Shrine of Blood. He told me to get out, and I said, very clearly and honestly, that I am no longer his son."

The woman gasped. "And...and you just left? Without an apology?"

"He wouldn't have apologized to me. Why should I give him any better?"

"Because he is your father!"

"Not any more. He is no longer your husband, either. Even if you still care for the man...he's no longer the person you fell in love with. I'm sorry, mom...I have no intention of killing him, but if he decides that I am worth the shot, then I will defend myself to the best of my ability no matter the consequence to him."

"And what of the girls? What if he kills one of them?"

"He will not touch either of them. He. Will. Not."

The blazing anger in the man's eyes was enough to start a bonfire. The woman was very uncomfortable standing before him with such a death glare on his face, like that of a million devils from hell all possessing him. She gulped.

"Son...don't lose them. Heather will never forgive you."

"I would never forgive me. No matter what happens, even if I need give myself up, they will live. I will see to it personally."

"You'd go that far for my daughter?" the blonde called faintly.

They both turned to the noise. Heather had sat up and was awake, still spread across the rocking loveseat. She was glaring very seriously at the man on her porch. He met her gaze with much less ferocity, settling back into his usual quiet, calm demeanor.

"I give you my word and my life."

The blonde did not look at ease whatsoever. "Protect her."

"With my life, Ms. Truscott."

"And Miley too."

"Of course."

The woman stood and embraced the man. He returned the gesture of trust and affection.

"Don't let them die. No matter what. Keep my girls alive."

He nodded and ran his fingers idly through her hair. The blazing inferno dropped to a small flame, ready to flare at a moment's notice, but calmed by the gentle serenity and affection. He had learned how to tame the fire, how to bring it back, how to control it and unhinge it, and he had learned it all from the daughter that had inherited it. It wasn't much different between mother and daughter, save age and experience.

"Alright, Ms. Truscott. You should probably take my mom and go get some food or relax inside. Nothing to worry about, remember?"

"Right...nothing to worry about."

She released the man and stepped drearily into the house, looking and feeling as though she were in a surreal dream.

"I'll be sure to bring the girls next time I'm in town, Ms. Truscott. And mom...I'm sorry for leaving so soon, but the grand plan is almost ready to be put into action. I have to get back to California and make some calls before the window of opportunity closes. I...don't want to go," he said, taking a shaky breath, "but...I have a government to bring down."

"Be careful. I hate that you're doing this, and if you were still under my roof I'd have you grounded in a heartbeat. But you're an adult, and all I can say is to be careful and keep safe those who are closest to you."

"Right...thanks mom. See you soon."

He linked hands with her for a moment and squeezed his fingers around hers, then let go and stepped lightly and quietly down to the bike, which started as he put the helmet on. It automatically twisted in the direction of the west coast and lifted about five feet off the ground. He secured the strap and twisted the throttle backwards, the bike spooling up and jetting away through the air. Within a short moment, it was gone, and the brunette woman was left standing on the porch, leaning against one of the support pillars that held up the awning, her right arm wrapped gently around the wood, her left at her side, tears in her eyes. She was not afraid of the plan he proposed. She was only afraid that she would never see her son ever again.

_(time lapse; it's not healthy for me to do this twice in a chapter, but it's hard to have Kitten running all over the place and not break the mood and flow of the story)_

Miley scratched her head tiredly, staring at the sheet of lyrics again. It didn't seem right. Lilly sat beside her, equally as tired. The coffee-maker had run out of grounds, and was nothing but a pot of boiled water sitting on the counter in the lounge down the hall.

"Lilly...this is hopeless. We can't work when we're tired."

"But I can't sleep, Miley..."

"Me neither. Kitten's been gone too long. The only time he's ever gone this long is when he's out keeping the feds off our tail."

"Or when he's late," a cheerful voice called from the door. Both tired girls looked to see Kitten entering the room, wearing the same clothes he had been the day before. It looked as though he had been awake all night and day, but he looked as alert as ever. In his hand was a styrofoam tray, and on the tray was-

"Starbucks!" the girls cried in unison. They jumped at the man and wrenched the coffees from the tray, guzzling them down in earnest. And suddenly, they both looked far more awake and refreshed.

"Better?"

"Much," Lilly replied.

"Good. Now, about this song..."

He leaned over the mixing board and gazed at the words. He blinked.

"Miley...what's this?"

"It's what I've got."

"This...is what you've got?"

She nodded in shame. He sighed.

"Miley Stewart, America's songbird, can't come up with strong lyrics for a song. This has got to be a first."

"I'm blocked, Kitten. I've been blocked for a long while. I keep getting ideas for words, but I can never get them down the right way."

The man leaned back against the wall behind him. He pulled a pen out of his pocket and scratched the back of his head with it.

"Let me see..."

He began writing quickly and with a bit of a flourish on the paper. It was like watching a madman at work.

"Kitten?"

"Shh," he said curtly. He added a couple more lines, then put the pen away, looking steadily at the paper. He handed it back to the girls.

"Try that."

They gazed over the words.

_(Verse 1)_

_Everybody duck and cover_

_The storm is passing over_

_There's nothing to be spared_

_Just bow, forget your cares_

_The wind is whipping blind_

_The force crushing my mind_

_I cannot take it any longer!_

_(Chorus)_

_Hurricane, tidal wave_

_Power crashing down on me_

_Tornado, thunderstorm_

_Blinding me from all I see_

_I can't escape this fate_

_I have to face my fears_

_Nothing more can be done_

_No response to my tears_

_(Verse 2)_

_I can't withstand the force_

_It's thrashing all off-course_

_I think this may explode_

_My mind's on overload_

_The force is devastating_

_I think it's non-abating_

_I just can't hold off any more!_

_(Chorus)_

_Hurricane, tidal wave_

_Power crashing down on me_

_Tornado, thunderstorm_

_Blinding me from all I see_

_I can't escape this fate_

_I have to face my fears_

_Nothing more can be done_

_No response to my tears_

At this point on the paper, the word 'instrumental' had been written. Following that was the word 'chorus' followed by a number two. Miley looked up at the man as he leaned against the wall, his gaze trained on the microphone hanging in the booth.

"Kitten...where did you learn to write lyrics?"

"I just follow my feelings. This is supposed to be a rocking song, so I figured it needed some rocking lyrics. But it's supposed to have a note of despair, as if asking 'when is the end?' to the heavens that are raining upon the asker. Which I suppose in this case would be you. And it should indeed seem like a hurricane or a tornado slashing at you, right?"

"It's...almost violent."

"Well, we have to set an example, right?"

"But...is this me?"

"It's better than anything else I had...the rest of everything else is all heavy metal."

"Show me some of that."

"Hannah Montana does Heavy Metal? I suppose that the H and the M both still fit the subjects...but here's the words for the song I would have suggested were it not for heavy metal genre specifically..."

He gently reclaimed the pad of paper and scribbled a bit, handing it back. "I only wrote through the first chorus...but here it is."

_(Verse 1)_

_/Hurricane whips chaos up\_

_/Torment all that it can grope\ _

_The war takes place inside my mind_

_/The one last place that I held hope\_

_The silence follows the eye of the storm_

_/But raging fear circles endlessly\_

_Indulgence is mine enemy_

_/And drags me under the knife to bleed\_

_(Bridge)_

_Hell has come to find me_

_It's my calling to give in_

_I refuse to let myself go out _

_I refuse intention to /commit sin\_

_(Verse 2)_

_/Eye of the storm, so quiet, calm\_

_Before long the silence is cut again_

_/Destructive wind destroys the world\_

_/And flings all beings into peril\_

_(Pre-Chorus)_

_/Whip this circle round one last time\_

_/Kill my people under your rule\_

_/Flip this scale toward your favor\_

_/Fuck all else that stands in your way\_

_(Chorus)_

_Of /bloodlust\_

_Of /terror\_

_Of wind and fury and /all that is\_

_Of /worship\_

_Of /courtesy\_

_Of mind and soul and /spirit and body\_

_In essence of the privilege revoked_

_And all the partitions you have invoked_

_The wind will terrorize all that it can reach_

_The rain will soak my soul and breach_

_My body, my soul, the things holding me together..._

_/May the wind drag me into oblivion\_

_/And may I forever be known as the Eye Of The Storm\_

A stunned silence followed the read-through. Four eyes gazed upward at Kitten as he leaned against the wall once again, the pen in his pocket, arms crossed, eyes trained on the hanging mic.

"So...you read it."

"Kitten...I never knew someone so guarded could be so violent inside."

"There have been many emotions that I experienced while this take-over was going on. I had to vent or else I would have ruptured and gone insane."

"You...aren't insane, are you?"

He laughed darkly. "If you don't think my outfit is, then no, I'm not. I don't get much more crazy than what you see.

Miley sighed. "Thank goodness for that..."

"But what about these words?"

"What about them, Lilly?"

Her eyes were ablaze with a fury he'd not seen before. It almost broke his emotionless facade. Almost.

"These lyrics are so violent, so harsh, so...perfect!"

"But Hannah Montana doesn't do heavy metal. Everything outlined by slashes is screaming. And I don't think either of you know how to scream without destroying your throats."

There was a pause. Then...

"Do you?"

Miley had asked the question. Kitten shifted.

"I do..." he said slowly. Lilly cleared her throat.

"Can you teach one of us?"

"I could...but to what point?"

"I want this song, Kitten. I don't want what you just wrote. I want this one. The whole thing."

"But most of it is screaming."

"Then I'll come up with a melody to flow in front of the screaming. The harsh vocals will only be for emphasis."

"Better plan than I could come up with, but...I just don't see how. It's not Hannah. It's not Miley. I know that you gave up the blonde wig four years ago, but it's still very much a part of you. It's 'the other side of you', so to speak."

Miley snorted. "I don't really care what is or isn't me."

"Not only that, but you're a pop sensation, not a metal-head like me."

"Well, why can't I do something you'd like to repay you for all you've done?"

"Because I've done nothing, Miley. It's all you and Lilly that have done all this."

"You gave us a place to live. You gave us purpose. You gave us a reason to believe."

"Only because you took the hand that I offered."

"And we can't ever repay you for that!"

"You did that just by standing by me."

"But I at least want to do more."

"Listen, Kitten," Lilly interjected, standing up in front of their leader. "I don't know who you are, where you come from, or what made you snap and do this thing, but I'm here with you just as Miley is, and I'm not going to let you tell her what she can and can't sing. You're the one who believes so strongly in individual freedom, well, then, stand by your belief! Or was it all words to you?"

He blinked at the ferocity of the blonde woman. She was just like her mother.

"If you think you can pull it off, Miley, I can't say no to it. You have my permission to use my lyrics if you think you are able."

She grinned at him around Lilly's planted body. "Then write the rest of them down for me."

She handed the pad back, and Kitten had no choice but to finish the words he had written on the paper. The velocity of the song and the fight that the words instilled in their hearts was staggering, like an emotional overload. Miley suddenly looked uncertain.

"Having second thoughts?"

"No...just wondering how to scream to fulfill the lyrics..." she mused. He chuckled.

"I wouldn't try it. There's a lot of risk involved if you don't do it right."

"Such as?"

"If you do it wrong, you'll end your career as the songbird. No excuses, no recovery. Throat surgery won't even save you."

Her eyes widened. "Then how can you do it?"

"I know tricks and I've had a lot of practice. My voice is a lot more harsh than yours is, too."

"Lilly's is a bit rougher than mine."

"But you need her for the harmony."

"I can do both," the blonde volunteered. Kitten laughed lightly, not to mock her in any way, but rather because it was humorous to him that she should suggest such a thing.

"I don't really see a way that it's possible considering the harmony and screaming take place at the same time."

"I could work around it."

"Well...there's a process that you have to go through first before you're ready to practice. It's not easy, believe me. You have to be able to sing, then to split your voice, then to get a whisper-growl, then a full-scream."

"I want to learn," Lilly stated adamantly.

"First, sing the scales."

"_Do re mi fa so la ti do...do ti la so fa mi re do_," she sang. It wasn't at Miley's quality of vocalization, but it was a very strong singing voice and was workable.

"Alright, now, when you sing, growl a bit. You should create a 'two-toned' sound, where you're singing one octave above the growl.

"Two-toned?"

"_Doh rei mii fah soh lah tii doh...doh tii lah soh fah mii rei doh..._" He had a more nasal inflection imbued into his vocals, but there was no mistaking the obvious octave difference between the voice and the growl.

"_I wanna fly, I wanna drive, I wanna go...I wanna be a part of something I don't know_," he sang, keeping the harsh octave difference. He then coughed.

"It's very bad for the throat to sing too much like that. I've gotten more used to it, but it takes some warm-up to get back into shape, and a little more work to bring the growl to its proper inflection. If you don't do it right, it'll screw up your voice."

"How do you do it?"

"Imagine trying to purr like a cat. That's the basic way to go about it."

He then moved into the studio and put on the headphones, leaning forward to the mic. He tapped it twice and Miley spun the chair around, bringing up the sound. Lilly stood in the doorway, watching him.

"So, there's the high note..._do re mi fa so la ti do...do ti la so fa mi re do_. Then there's the undertone, _do re mi fa so la ti do...do ti la so fa mi re do_." The undertone sounded more like a growl, but the notes were distinguishable.

"And then you put them together and you end up with something like this:

"_So what if you can see, The dark inside of me, No one can ever change this animal I have become; Help me believe, It's not the real me, Somebody help me tame this a-ni-mal..._"

Miley watched passively, then pressed the intercom button that linked into the mic. "Sounds like it's harsh on the throat."

"You use your vocal cords to create the growl, but it can be controlled and disengaged at will. It is indeed very harsh on the throat, but that's why I don't do it often.

"After you master the growl, it's time for the whisper-growl, which is a stressing of the false vocal cords near the back of the mouth." He pressed his mouth up to the mic and drew his chin closer to his Adam's apple.

"It should sound like this," he growled. It sounded a bit like a snore. "This does not damage the vocal cords the way the two-tone does because it doesn't utilize the vocal cords. It uses the false vocal cords," he explained, all in the snoring tones.

"And then there's the full-scream, right?" Lilly asked to be sure.

Kitten nodded, then drew his face a full foot away from the mic. He inhaled deeply, tossed his shoulders back, and cracked his neck.

"Cover your ears," he warned. Miley covered her ears, but Lilly crossed her arms.

"I can't wait to see this," she said crossly, skeptical of the volume.

"Alright, don't blame me when your drums hurt."

He sucked in a huge breath of air, tossing his shoulders back once again, opened his mouth, and let out a noise that sounded like a space shuttle taking off. Lilly cringed and covered her ears at the harsh breathy scream that emanated from their leader's throat. It was ungodly, and yet it was so powerful and pure.

He stopped, sucking in air, panting slightly. "It's not my best effort...I haven't legitimately screamed in a while."

Miley scraped her fingers through her hair, combing it back down into place. "I don't care what you call it, that was intense."

"That was totally unreal. How did you do that?" Lilly pestered, running up behind him and turning him in the chair to face her. She was both stunned and angry. "How can you do that without pain?"

"I'm not actually screaming with my voice. Like I said, they're my false vocal cords."

"But _how?_"

"You really want to learn? It'll make your voice more deep and intense sounding over time if you do it right."

"Of course I want to learn!"

Kitten laughed. "Then I suggest you practice the cat's purr that I showed you. Then I'll tell you how to create the whisper-growl."

"But I want to know _now!_"

"It's not something you can pick up on the first shot," he said, standing up and moving back into the mixing room. "It took me a month of practice before I could call up a scream at will, and even then it took me another month to get it to be very loud and projective. Maybe it would be better if you just learned to scream normally, like in a horror."

"That's yelling. That would screw up my voice."

"Screaming can too if you don't do it right."

"That's why you're going to teach me!"

"In time, Lilly. Just relax, have some patience, and practice. I can't guarantee that you'll be able to scream by the time we put this show on, but I can say that you should be able to pick it up easily. You're loud, obnoxious, and not afraid of who you are. It takes a great deal of self-confidence to create a scream in front of a crowd."

"Well, at least I don't have terrible stage fright..."

"Even the smallest bit of doubt and lack of commitment will throw it off. You have to be absolutely determined to produce the noise. Forming words around the air flow is harder to do and takes more practice."

"I'm going to learn one way or another," Lilly challenged determinedly. Kitten laughed heartily.

"I believe in you. Now, Miley...do we need to soften up the lyrics a bit? I wrote the F-word into the song a few times just on spur of the moment to convey my emotion, but I don't know if you-"

"Leave it in there. I'm not a kid anymore."

"You sure?"

"If I'm not afraid to take down the fucking president, I'm not going to be afraid to tackle a fucking concert. Bring it the fuck on," she said calmly. Kitten once again had to laugh.

"I don't think I've ever heard you swear before like that."

"Never had a legitimate reason to. But if I'm going to convey such a harsh emotion to the public, I'm going to have to be able to use the word that you used. It fits so perfectly, no question."

"I can change it-"

"I said, leave it. It'll be that much more shocking for the crowd to hear me say such vulgarity."

"Not as shocking as it will be for me to hear it. America's songbird goes heavy metal. This should be interesting. And I think I may enjoy this."

"Why do you say that with a smile?"

"Because I've always fantasized about a death-metal-esque song that features harsh lyrics with a totally hellish sound to it, contrasted beautifully by a pure, high, beautiful female vocalist who doesn't scream once. That's what the other players are for."

"Well...I won't scream. But I think I might enjoy the 'head-banging,' was it?"

"Yeah. But you've gotta do it with the tempo of the song, don't forget."

"I won't," she promised. He laughed again, her determination of notable quantity.

"I'm beginning to regret ever hiding my lyrics from you. I might just have to have you record songs that I've written."

Now it was her turn to laugh. "Only if I agree to it. I don't do things I don't like."

"Even if there's a duet between you and Lilly?"

"What kind of duet?"

"Well...see, that's the tricky part. I wrote it to be a love song between a man and a woman, but I can't find a male singer who can play the part."

"Why not you? You wrote it."

"Because I can't hit the note. It's a chest-note, in your normal vocal range, but it's a high G note. It perfectly matches the head-note C that the girl is supposed to sing, but the only way I can get to a high G in chest is to scream and stretch my vocal cords to their limits."

"Which would destroy your throat."

"Exactly."

"I'll do it," Lilly said firmly. Kitten blinked.

"It was merely a suggestion, you know..."

"But I want to do it. For Miley."

He locked eyes with her. "Learning to scream, next learning a duet, what's after that? Next thing I know, I'll be at your wedding, and Miley will be the one walking down the aisle."

Everyone in the room laughed cheerily. "I don't know about that. Love is a precious gift, not something that you toss around idly," Miley chastised.

"I know, I know. I'm just teasing. You're too much like sisters for that."

His watch beeped. He looked down and clapped a hand to his forehead.

"Shit...I have to go. There's a meeting in the board-room between myself and the head workers of all the individual departments. I have to go. I think you two might be requested in the meeting, but you have a song to work on."

"We never end up going to these things. Why can't we go now?"

"That decision lies with you," he said quickly, opening the door to the studio. "I'm sorry for the short notice, but if I'm late to my own meeting, what will everyone else say about punctuality?"

He shut the door and jogged away toward the already-open elevator doors. It was five minutes to one in the afternoon.

"You know what?" Lilly started.

"What?"

"I think we should be there. Just to see what he has to say."

"You know what?" Miley returned.

"What?"

"I was thinking the exact same thing."

The girls linked arms and turned the lights out, stepping out into the hallway, where they then skipped like little girls toward the elevator doors, the elevator of which was two floors up, dropping off Kitten for the meeting. He straightened his collar and retied his boots before sitting in his chair, propping his feet up on the table that he had paid so much for. He sighed. _Ready when everyone else is._

And with that thought, his face became blank and calm, void of all internal emotion. It wasn't good business to let his emotions interfere with his plans.

* * *

**_There should be some notable irony in his thought there at the end. I laughed when I wrote it. It's so perfect to this story. But now you know who Kitten is, sorta, or at least where he came from and how his parents fit in. Michelle is NOT Heather's sister. Kitten is NOT related to the girls...at least, I don't think. I see ways that I COULD make it possible, but there would be no point._**

**_Now you know his origins and more about the outer world, so-to-speak. Next chapter will be the meeting with the cult, followed by a small revolt in a city in Texas which leads to its nullification, then to more discussion about another song or two, which should bring me close to 10k words if I write it all out. My goal is 10k and I am determined to stick to it. However, this story may not be updated again until Saturday or Sunday; I have to write at least one Jimmy Neutron chapter for Pushed To Breaking Point or else I'm afraid I might lose interest. :S_**

**_Anyways, now you know what's up and down, and what to expect. Hopefully you're still on your toes and waiting for another chapter. :3_**


	3. Two Hurt

**_A/N: ALRIGHTY! I know there aren't many people reading and reviewing this, but to everyone who pays attention to this (and my other works), I am on temporary hiatus with my Jimmy Neutron FanFic, meaning that this will be richer in content and in chapter updates; one every other day will be about the average. I can only belt out 10000 words so fast, guys, and coming up with ideas is tricky sometimes._**

**_Thanks to all of you out there who are reading this. This chapter is, by far, the most deep and most emotional so far in this story. And without further ado, the chapter!_**

* * *

The elevator dinged and the girls stepped into the spacious board room. It seemed very large and empty, but they decided that it was probably because Kitten was the only one in the room. His face had assumed a blank expression, but his eyes were closed and his arms crossed over his chest. With his feet propped up, they wondered if he might be sleeping.

"Should we wake him?"

"No. It's how he starts his meetings, with a little power nap thing."

Lilly nodded and then took her seat on his right, with Miley on his left. Neither of them said a word to break the thick silence. They gazed at each other across the table, unwavering, waiting for the silence to be broken, the meeting to commence.

The elevator dinged and both their heads turned to look. Coming from the elevator was Shorty, Skippy, and Gaff, along with an assortment of other odd personnel the girls had never really met before. They watched quietly as the people made their way in, engaged in idle conversation or laughing jovially as they were. However, once everyone was settled, and all the walls filled in, everything fell silent. Someone coughed. They all waited and looked to Kitten expectantly. He did indeed seem to be asleep; he looked very relaxed, very comfortable, even with his feet on the table and his weight on his lower back.

A red-haired girl, hair that was the color of anger through treatments and infusions of color pigments, stepped forward at the far end of the table. "Yo, home-skillet! Wake your ass up and start this meeting!"

His eyes were instantly open and on her. She looked down the table at him, a reproving glare on her face. He gazed at her calmly, as though asking silently why she'd disturbed his peace.

"You called us all down here, now wake the hell up and tell us why."

He blinked at her. "Thank you, Magic..." he responded quietly. In one swift movement he was on the table. All the arms that had been waiting patiently atop the wood surface, save those of the girls, were retracted off the wood in fear of being stepped on. Kitten may have been a nice man, but when he meant business, he _meant _business.

"I realize that I may not have made my intent clear in calling you all here today," he started, waltzing slowly down the table toward the young, silver-haired teenage boy at the end, who looked just as calm as Kitten did. "However, I shall not get that far this soon in the meeting. First, there is the general status update to be had."

He paused, midway down the table. "Digital development department."

A man of about fifteen stood up. He had glasses and a long, dark-blue overcoat. He looked rather dashing, even with a pencil tucked over his ear.

"Sir, we've completed the designing of the overall aspect of the show. All we need now from Star is the official stage-list of what songs she wishes to perform and what costumes she wishes to wear."

"Very good." He paused. "Costume development."

A young woman of about twenty-six stood up, her orange hair standing on end far more explosively than Kitten's; his hair was clumped together in spikes while hers looked like she'd been in a wind tunnel for too long. She had a long strip of measuring tape looped around her neck and wore a green turtle-neck sweater with faded blue jeans and red sneakers.

"We've come up with ideas for Star's costumes, but we are on level working ground with the digital development. We are waiting for Star to give her opinion and her stage-list."

"Fair." He waited a moment, gazing levelly at the elevator doors, hands linked behind his back. "Electrical department."

"The rigging has been assembled," Gaff said from his seat. The costume department's head of operations kicked him in the leg under the table and he stood up hurriedly. "We've implemented your idea with the ropes and have received only positive results. The remaining kinks are being worked out and we are almost finished with running the cables for the spotlights and colored halogen bulbs."

"Almost?"

"There was a bit of confusion as to what the exact specifications for the density of the wire was, but we resolved that problem at four o'clock this morning, sir."

"Excellent." Another lengthy pause. It was a habit of his to let the audience wait for his command before jumping, and another of his to let the information sink into their brains for a moment.

"Pyrotechnic department."

A woman who was missing an eyebrow and had black char marks all across her thick coat and slacks stood up, her black hair tied hastily into a ponytail. "We have tested and confirmed the functionality of each of the individual mortar units, as well as demonstrated the 'ring of fire' with expected results. We now await the stage-list so that we may collaborate with the electrical staff and the digital design staff."

"Very good." He waited another moment, then "Instrumental department."

Magic stood back up, having sat down in the chair at the far end of the table to Kitten's left. Her red hair looked like a huge bloody waterfall cascading from the back of her head down her shoulders and back across the white dress-blouse she wore, which looked very much like a dress-shirt other than the flared cuffs and lace around the collar. She had a black vest overtop that with one button linking tha halves together midway down her navel, while the hem of the vest just barely touched the ripped black denim jeans she wore over silvery-grey sneakers.

"What's this I hear about having a new bassist?"

Kitten blinked. "I was under the impression that your brother would have told you."

Against the wall, Butters shifted uncomfortably. It was not in his best interest to be singled out by his big brother, especially not at an important board meeting.

"He didn't say anything."

"Noted. Continue."

"Well, he totally changed the plan on us, but it's fine since we didn't have a bass player on our hands anyways. Everything has been tuned, everything's up to speed and polished off. Everyone is ready to play, guitars, bass, violin, keyboard. All we need now is a drummer."

"Noted. Very good." Another pause. "Vocals."

A small, pink-haired girl stood up, her yellow v-neck blouse in stark contrast to her cotton-candy hair. She cleared her throat.

"All six back-up vocalists are ready and have learned Star's back-up lyrics to the tee, sir," she responded sweetly. He nodded, still standing straight-backed on the table.

"Right. All seems to be in order. Instrumental equipment is accounted for. The stadium sent me a note today saying that they're ready when we are. I told them that the only thing stopping us from going public is the rehearsing we have to do. And that all depends on Star and what she decides to include on the stage-list."

He looked around at everyone, spinning slowly on the table. His gaze struck everyone in the room, including the people around the walls. Finally, he rested his eyes on Star.

"So...how goes the new song?"

"I, well...I don't know."

He gazed at her blankly, waiting for her to continue.

"I have...four of them that I'm working on, like y-"

"Do you have the first one?"

"Yes, but it's yo-"

"What about the second one?"

"Not yet."

"The third?"

"No."

"The fourth?"

"I...have an idea for it."

He blinked, eyes shifting to gaze at the clock for a moment. "You and Shadow may return to the studio if you wish."

Miley opened her mouth, but Lilly spoke out first.

"Actually, we'd like to request a follow-up meeting just between the three of us. It's your show, after all, and we'd like you to know what we've come up with."

He nodded once, still staring at the gigantic minute hand of the clock. "Very well."

He then turned back to face the elevator doors, standing in the middle of the table once again. "I want to thank each and every one of you for all your efforts and hard work. There is no way I myself would be able to pull this plan off by myself. You all have helped me, each in your own way, to construct my fantasy, my vision. And now, after four months of planning and a very diligently working team of fifty-three members, we are nearly ready to begin the rehearsal stage. Rehearsals will probably take place for the next month. In the event that we master the stage-list sooner, I have the stadium on my contact list, and the director is always listening for a ring. I can make the necessary arrangements to have the stadium prepared in a moment's notice. Spreading the word to the public will be easy; keeping the government off our case will be difficult. But that is what we are here for: we are here to outright defy the governmental ruling without question or tolerance for punishment. We have a voice. We have a purpose. We deserve to be free once again."

Clapping broke out. However, Magic stood up, glaring fiercely up at her brother. Everything seemed to freeze in mid-motion. Kitten blinked and looked down.

"Yes, Magic?"

"So, what exactly is the purpose of putting on a concert? Shouldn't we be protesting? I mean, think about it. What kind of worker's strike has been won by _singing and dancing? _And what revolution was won with _music? _I always knew you were a little crazy in school and all, between jumping off the gymnasium into the pool and climbing up the baseball backstops to shoot birdseed at people, but I think you've finally lost your mind, bro. This is a _revolution _we're trying to start, not a song-and-dance gimmick."

Wide eyes shifted slowly between Magic and Kitten. Magic looked angry and confused. Kitten looked as calm as ever. He didn't even seem shocked by the question.

"Tell me, Magic, have you ever witnessed a sea turtle in the ocean?"

"You know as well as I that neither of us have seen a sea turtle."

"I have, actually," he replied calmly. He began pacing on the table with slow, measured steps.

"When the government was being overrun, I was a bit mentally unstable. I was a little off my rocker when I was a kid, but then the wave of pain hit and everything changed. In one of my tirades against the government, I dove into the ocean with scuba gear on. And oh, what a sight it was. There just happened to be a sea turtle with a couple of its children floating gently below the surf, off the edge of a coral reef. I followed them. And I learned something.

"Nothing really bothers sea turtles. They move slowly. They are deliberate in their motions. They are in no way violent or malicious. Their only interest is in eating, and their only goal is to swim freely. _That _is the approach I want.

"We do not have to fight. Not until they provoke us. I will be honest and say that I am not easily provoked. Having said that, I also believe that we need a larger army to fight. We need at least two-thirds of the nation's populace behind us, fighting with us, not against us. We need to keep the cult underground but nation-wide. A panic will ensue. And we will emerge from beneath, throwing the government out of the Shrine of Blood and into the Atlantic Ocean. I believe we can do it. We have the tools. We have brains. But most importantly, we have something to fight for.

"You are right, Magic. We do need to fight. But remember what our mother always told us three children: never throw the first punch. We must stand up and be defiant, but we cannot fight them until they fight us. Only then will the blame lie with them, and only then will they truly be wrong for their actions. I loathe having to live underground, but until everything is ready, and we're able to continue with this scheme, there is no alternative beside that of submission."

The room was silent. Kitten sighed.

"I lost my own father to the fight." Magic shifted uneasily; Butters flexed his fingers. "He was a great man, a brave man, one to be proud of. And he died in the struggle because of what he truly believed in. I'll never forget the man that I called my father because he is my inspiration to make a better tomorrow for myself, my family, my friends, my peers. This cult deserves a future that isn't spent underground."

They all began clapping, some with tears in their eyes. Kitten waited a moment for the applause to die down, keeping his face resolved.

"So, with that being said, keep up the good work. I will call another meeting to order when the stage-list has been assembled so that I may distribute it to everyone and so that Star may explain more about the songs on the list. For the month following the production of the list, there will be vigorous training and rehearsing for everyone, no matter which department you're in. When we're in the final stages, probably the fourth week of the month, I will call the stadium and they will begin spreading the word. You may spread the word only when I give you permission and only to whom I give permission. Those whom are told may not spread the word further. Whether or not they show up will be a test of their courage to stand up for their beliefs. This will be very exciting for some of you and very strenuous for others. I strongly encourage you all to eat three square meals per day, sleep for at least eight hours each night, and to practice, practice practice. This meeting is hereby adjourned."

The elevator doors sprung open at the sound of his voice and gradually, the room emptied out until only the girls and Kitten were left. He turned to face them.

"Now, about the s-"

Someone cleared a throat behind him. He turned to see Magic standing on the table. She looked anguished and apologetic.

"Thanks for the pep-talk, bro." She sighed shakily. "I just wish daddy could see all this..."

"I know the feeling, sis. But enough. You look like you could use some sleep."

She nodded, yawning. "I'll come bug you soon."

"Go rest. We'll talk later."

She turned and shuffled off the table and into the elevator, which dinged as the doors closed and dropped down to the hall of rooms that they inhabited. She went into her room and flopped onto her bed, falling asleep within a very short amount of time.

"So, about the stage-list. How goes the first song?"

"Well, the first song is going to be called The Storm. I'm going to use your lyrics," Miley said confidently. Kitten sighed.

"Why won't you simply create your own?"

She smiled at him. "I cannot say any better what you did within those lines. Lilly is adamant about screaming for me while I do melody, and I think I've come up with a vocal line."

"I need more practice doing two-tone before I can start screaming," Lilly stated hesitantly. Kitten nodded.

"Worst-case scenario, I can fill the screaming and drum."

"So you're going to be the drummer, then?"

"I really don't have any objections or choice...there's nobody else who could fill the part, right?"

"None that I can think of," Miley replied.

"Next...your second song."

"Lilly came up with the title. She wants me to call it Ominous."

"Sounds intriguing."

She slid him a notepad with scribbles of writing slashed all over the page. He squinted to read the words, occasionally jumbling letters in his head as he tried to decipher the almost-code-like penmanship.

"I'll assume this was just hasty writing and call it square."

Lilly laughed. "Miley had an idea and just started going with it. I had a hard time keeping up. She would change lines on me three or four times before getting it right.

Kitten nodded. He flipped to the next page.

"I'm guessing this is the third song?"

"Yes. No screaming here, just pride and fighting. I wanted to call it Backlash, but Lilly wanted to call it Karma."

Kitten laughed. It was such a nice sound to hear. "I can see why. Both are good names. You may just have to play rock paper scissors with this one; the title isn't anywhere in the song."

"I know. It's not something I normally do; I like using part of the lyric as the title, but this one was more about the message."

"How about a title like Winds Of Change?"

Both heads turned to Lilly. "You're on fire today, Lilly! That's brilliant!"

She blushed. "No, stop. You're the songwriter here, Miley."

Kitten turned one more page. He raised his eyebrows a bit. "A duet..."

"Actually...it's a three-part song, with a three-part harmony during the last line of the chorus. I wanted it to be like a conversation with a mediator, y'know? Like, I'm talking to Lilly about all the good things, and she's talking about the bad things, and then you come in and say what's done is done."

"Interesting...and have you worked out the melody yet?"

"No...but I know that for most of it there's going to be a very sad, very slow aura."

"And what has Lilly decided to call this one?"

She turned red, but giggled. "I think I want to call it Looking Back."

"And...that is indeed one of the lyrics in this song..."

There was a pause in the conversation. "Kitten, what do you think will happen if this doesn't work?"

He looked up at the inquiring brunette, pain and fear in her eyes. His own held nothing but serenity and she calmed visibly just by gazing at his irises, which for once did not have contact lenses guarding them; the pure silver-hazel eyes shone in all their glory.

"It will work. I can guarantee it."

"How? How do you know for sure that this is going to go as planned?"

"Because I believe in what we're fighting for."

"Oliver did too!"

He blinked, trying not to wince. Lilly had broken her peace, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. This was very much unlike her usual strong composition and defiant resolve. And yet, she was the most broken of them.

"He believed, Kitten. And look where he is now!"

She sniffed, a single tear rolling down her left cheek. Her shoulders vibrated a bit as she tried to maintain control of herself. She sighed shakily.

"He...he fought for us on the inside...a-and now...he's..."

She bit down hard on her lower lip, the indents turning red from the force. In one swift movement, Kitten stood, pulled her chair out, and lifted her to her feet. He wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace and she automatically looped her own around his neck. She buried her head into his chest and sobbed, the icy tears soaking into the fabric of his black t-shirt. He stroked her hair gently, shushing her quietly, his lips near her ear. She quaked in his arms as his warm breath touched her ear lobe, sending shivers down her spine where they nestled in her left leg, tingling both in happiness and pain. She sniffed loudly.

"Kitten...he's gone."

He held her tighter while she cried into his chest. He looked over to Miley, who had just as many unshed tears in her eyes as those that stained his shirt. He beckoned her over with a twitch of his head, and she joined her friend in crying into his shirt. He held them tightly, and they held each other, each clinging to his shirt for dear life. He leaned down, resting his forehead against the tops of their heads, and sang very gently, very quietly, like a lullabye.

_I'm losing my fight_

_Blinded by this life_

_The truth is gone, gone, gone_

_I...I'm alright_

_Said my goodbyes, the past is gone_

_Gone, gone, gone..._

He sighed. "Oliver knew what he was doing. He lived his life to the fullest and worked his hardest for us. But when that man took his life and the lives of twenty others, we all died a little inside. It's not fair that life is so easily extinguished. It's not fair that we can't bring him back. But it's even less fair that he didn't get a chance to say goodbye."

The girls cried harder. He pressed on gently, whispering now.

"But Oliver knew the consequences. He wanted as much as what you two do, to live and be free. He lived. Now that he's gone from us physically, he's free. Don't ever give up. Oliver was a great man and lives on in your hearts. Never forget him and he will never die. Fight for him. Fight for Oliver."

"F-for Oliver," Miley whispered. She sniffled loudly, trying to unclench her hand from his shirt.

"F-for Ollie-pop..." Lilly sighed, drying her eyes with great trouble. The air in the room was very thick and depressing, and yet Kitten managed a million-dollar smile, his white teeth all perfectly aligned. The reassurance he radiated, the joy that pervaded the room from just his smile, was enough to lift the girls' spirits up.

"Everything will be alright. I already lost one person. I'm not going to do it again."

They both nodded, gazing adoringly into his eyes. He released them both and cleared his throat.

"Maybe what we need to do is create a song for him. To show our appreciation."

Miley nodded. "Something sad that we can do after The Storm."

"Make it five songs instead of four?"

"Maybe change the second song to make it about him."

Kitten nodded. "That sounds like a good idea. How can I help?"

"Just...just come with us and be there...just be there."

"Alright. Let's go to the studio, then."

_(time lapse)_

"_...The wind has changed direction. I will not step back down. I fight for fellow freedom. I fight to bring you down!_"

Miley sung her heart and soul into the microphone, clinging to it like a life-line while Kitten leaned back in his chair to listen to the sound. It was absolutely beautiful, high-strung, and fierce. A synthesized background track had been generated to fill behind Miley's vocals; the tracks behind the sound wouldn't be finalized until they were passed down to the instruments, and that couldn't be done until Miley had the vocals locked in.

"_Don't try to change me. Don't try to break me. I will not give in. I will fight to win!_"

Kitten closed his eyes. Even Lilly was feeling the music. It was almost like a dance beat, fierce and pounding, with a very loud, solid bass line. The pulsing beats bounced the chairs around a bit, but none of them noticed.

"_This is my time!_"

The music ended with her singing, the same note, the same octave, the same exact moment as all the rest of the instruments clashing together, a beautiful melody that came alive in the minds of the listeners. Kitten stirred and stood, applauding Miley after the music finished. She smiled sheepishly.

"That's all I've got for this one."

Lilly pressed the intercom button. "You totally rock, Miley!"

Her cheeks started to tint pink. "No...no, it's just my job."

Lilly sighed and threw her arms up. "There's just no convincing you, is there?"

Miley laughed. "Nope. What's next, Kitten?"

"Well...I guess now it's time for the three of us to each grab a mic."

"Oh, actually...can we hold off on that one? A-and the other...until maybe a little later? I'm still a little shaken from earlier..."

Kitten nodded sympathetically, standing up. "Actually, Miley, you and Lilly should get some sleep. I know you didn't get much last night while writing these songs."

"We tried, though," Lilly mumbled. "We were tired, but we couldn't sleep...it was a restless fatigue."

Again he nodded. "Well, you both look very tired and I'm sure very torn up inside. Get some rest, rejuvenate, and we'll all meet back in here whenever you decide you're ready. I'll cook something for you too if you want."

They both clapped their hands and cheered. "Your food is the best!"

"No, no...I'm an amateur. I have a friend who's a really good chef, though. He can out-cook me any day, any time."

"We should meet him. But we want your food," Lilly insisted. He sighed, grinning.

"Okay, okay. You both need the rest, though."

"Agreed," Miley concurred, nodding and yawning loudly. Lilly followed suit. Kitten chuckled.

"Alright girls. Get some sleep. You need it. I'm going to go up to the surface and run some errands."

Lilly checked the clock on the wall. "Kitten...it's only four."

"So?"

"Work doesn't end until six, remember?"

"So?"

"What do you mean, so?"

"I mean what I say. There is nothing saying I can't go run errands at four in the afternoon."

"Yeah there is. The government says that you should be working."

"Good point. But considering that I'm very low-profile on the radar, they won't bother to pay attention."

He turned and left quickly, reaching the surface in about one minute's time. The girls looked at each other as they walked to the door and prepared to leave.

"Low-profile? That guy? He sticks out like a sore thumb."

"I'll say." The light clicked off and Lilly's door opened. "But he's right. We need sleep. And we probably need to stop worrying about him."

"I have to worry..." Miley mumbled, sliding out of her clothes and into some of Lilly's pajamas. "He's so surreal...like a big brother."

"I think Miley's in love," Lilly giggled. She was promptly smacked in the face by a rogue pillow.

"Am not."

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"You're so crushing on him, Miley! Why can't you just admit it?"

"Because he'd probably freak out."

"A-HA! I KNEW you were hot for him!"

The brunette slapped her hands over her mouth and fumed silently. Curse her and her big mouth. Lilly laughed.

"It's alright. I don't blame you. Truth is...I was interested in him for a while back."

"Best friend say _what?_"

"It was a little while ago, but I eventually decided that there'd be no chance of a relationship. He's too, like you said, surreal."

Miley punched the pillow she was going to lay her head on, frustrated. "What do I say to him?"

"Easy. Just say how you feel." Lilly crawled under the covers of her bed, snuggling into the pillow under her head. Miley sighed, sliding her own body under the comforter and sheets.

"It can't be that simple. There's bound to be a catch."

"Well, truthfully, you'll never know unless you ask. But I have a feeling that he can't say no to you."

"Why is that?"

"Miley, think about it. You're gorgeous. You're a pop-star. And you're one of his closest friends. How could he _not _say yes to you?"

"I...I just don't know." She bit her lip worriedly. Lilly giggled.

"Well, then, do what you think is best. I'm here if you need help," the blonde said reassuringly. She placed a friendly kiss on her friend's nose, then rolled over and relaxed. Miley laid in the bed, eyes closed, relaxed, but her mind refused to slow down. The only thing she could think of was him. It was like a disease that she had caught and couldn't get rid of. Eventually, she fell into a light sleep, her body recharging.

Lilly, on the other hand, let small, warm tears drip into her pillow. The only thought running through her mind was the one that crushed her more than remembering the pain associated with Oliver's death. She swallowed dryly and tried not to cry in pain.

_She loves him...she loves him...she loves him._

_(time lapse)_

Kitten looked around furtively, floating on his bike overtop a very tall building in central Los Angeles. He gazed down at the traffic below, most of which knew nothing of his plan, the other part of which could only suspect the future would be altered by him. He scoured the city, looking at anything and everything. He needed to survey the scene like a helicopter to get an idea of how best to navigate the city at night. For if night were to fall and something came unhinged, everything would be for naught.

He checked his watch irritably. The best line of travel was as it had always been: follow the outskirts, then dart inward toward the stadium. Simple. An untrained monkey could follow brain-dead instructions like that. And yet, he had the uneasy feeling that something would go wrong, horribly wrong.

His mind wandered. He had paid his parents each a visit, even reassured Lilly's mother. He had no clue where Lilly's father was. Miley's father was in Tennessee. Crowley Corners, was it? He couldn't remember. And her mother...dead of brain cancer, if he remembered right. When when she was ten. Thirteen years ago, if he recalled correctly. She needed to pay respects to her late mother. Kitten swallowed dryly. It was entirely possible that the next time Miley would ever pay respects to her mother was if her own life was taken.

But he hadn't really made a promise for her. He had made the promise to Heather, the promise to protect her baby girl. So was it really a problem if he let Miley go? He mentally slapped himself, bobbling a bit in the air. He had no right to think like that. Miley couldn't die. Neither could Lilly. He cared for them too much.

Lilly had spent weeks holed up in her room when she'd heard about Oliver's death. It was all Kitten could do to stop himself from crying. He maintained his normal, unmoved resolve, one that he put on in front of others to hide his own pain. He knew, he _knew _that he was Lilly's rock, and if she'd seen him crying, she'd have lost it. He had coaxed her to remove the pills from her room, the ones she took for general sickness, like the flu or headaches or sinuses. But the thought that she could easily overdose and die was what terrified Kitten most about her. He did not want to lose her.

And then there was Miley. He had been just as much her rock as he had Lilly's, though Miley had talked to him and opened her heart for him. He'd soothed her and calmed her, night after night, week after week. Even now, she was still recovering. The wound had only been inflicted in the middle of January. It was only beginning to reach late April. He sighed. It was too soon for them to be trying to move on.

And yet, they seemed to want to move forward. He didn't know. He had no clue how long it would take them to come around, but he stood by them no matter what. It helped them immensely, he knew, but he was not going to let them be indebted to him. He hated when people kissed up to him. He was a leader by logic, not one by popularity. Several times he had been revolted against. And every single time, the two girls he had supported so firmly, so steadfastly, had stood up and deflected the blows for him. He was not going to let them be indebted to him for what he had given to them. It was not right. He did not want that control of free-will over them. That was a power that not even God had. And if the Lord that he bowed to could not control personal free-will, why should he, a mortal?

Another glance at the watch. The sun was setting on his left. It was five...ish. He didn't really know. The watch didn't tell him time. It didn't have room for a time-keeping device. It was too full of other resources, things that could save a life just as quickly as sacrifice it. It was probably the most valuable thing he had, materialistically. The girls were several leagues above some silly wrist-watch that could only perform given tasks. They were flexible, dynamic, pure. Human, above all.

It was pointless for him to deny it. He suspected that at least one of them was interested, if not both, but then that would only cause trouble. See, if it was only a suspicion, and it turned out false, there was no way he would be able to explain his way out of it. And if it was true, then even if only one of them had taken an interest, there would be jealousy. He would grow closer to one and farther from the other, but he didn't want that. He couldn't do that to them. Even if they had feelings for him.

It wasn't that he was trying to string them along. He was actually trying to keep the peace. But Lilly was so fiery, and Miley was so spiritual...if either of them was disappointed, there'd be hell to pay. But he also ran the risk of them leaving him, running away in anger or fear or sadness for not having confessed. It was hard for him to contend with the possibilities of what the implications were.

So what was he to do? Did he follow America's songbird, Miley? Chase the brunette girl who managed to captivate more than seventy percent of the nation's male audience just with looks, let alone voice? She, who had fame and fortune, who had dealt with the death of her mother at a young age, who could smile through it all and come literally come out singing?

Or did he follow Lilly, the hard-core rule breaker? The one who'd relied on him so very heavily during the mourning of Oliver's death. The one he'd noticed even before he'd noticed Miley, just because everyone noticed Miley and she was sometimes left out of the spotlight. The one who was boyish and could easily amuse him, comfort him, make him feel alive where Miley might be more chaste and traditional in her exploration.

Such a tough decision. He prayed that he wouldn't have to make it. It wouldn't be a very fair decision for either of them, no matter who he chose. Everyone would expect him to choose Miley, but then they would also expect him to choose Lilly. There wasn't any hope for salvation from his skepticism, either, since none of them had been very forward with their actions. The only reason he even suspected is because he could deduce, because he'd seen and heard things they didn't know he could see or hear. Even his sister Magic had thrown in her two-cents worth. It was a horrible game of Twister, and the two girls were both bent over backwards in front of him. All he had to do was reach out and pick one, and he knew they would not wait forever.

Who did he care about more? He didn't have a legitimate answer for that. The problem was, they were both so unique and so strong in their own individual way that he couldn't exactly tell himself who it was that was the one for him. And to choose one meant to drop the other, he rudely reminded himself. There was no end to the circle. He could run it a million times in a second and still come up with no decisive direction. He loved them both equally as friends, and he could imagine relationships with both of them taking flight, but he couldn't risk hurting either of them. That wouldn't be fair. It wouldn't be the right thing to do.

Another glance at his watch. The sun had set, leaving only an orange corona over the horizon. He scowled down at the cars, drifting slowly down to the street. There was nothing for it. He couldn't risk breaking the peace, no matter how flimsy it was. He wouldn't be able to divulge anything to either of them until they opened up and told him more. He didn't even know if they would like him or take interest in him. It was all just useless speculation. Just an imaginative construction in the mind of a confused man with two girls and one direction. He wished he could go forward in time to see what would happen. But that would only spoil the future for him. He didn't need to know if he ended up with either of them. Time would solve that mystery for him if he waited long enough. It's not like it was a very tough mystery to solve, right?

Then why did he want to know so bad? Were they really having that much of an adverse effect on him? He shuddered, struggling to clear his thoughts. There would be no alternative but to shut up and wait. One of them would eventually have to step forward and say something. He nodded as if this was the ultimate solution and then floated his bike over traffic and behind a building. A large man waited there for him, a large cardboard box on the ground.

"Evening, Sam. What've you got for me this week?"

"This is everything you requested, sir. Please, take it."

"How much do I owe you?"

"It's on the house, sir."

"Sam, don't lie to me. What do I owe you?"

The large man shifted, his stomach wobbling a bit over his apron. "W-well...the total cost comes to about three thousand dollars."

Kitten pulled out his wallet and shelled out thirty-one one-hundred dollar bills. "Keep the hundred, Sam; it's for you. And thanks again."

"I'll have another shipment ready for you next week, sir," the large man replied, tipping his head gratefully at the dark-haired man. He stepped back into his building while Kitten secured the box to the back seat of the bike. Once it was secured, he started the engine and lifted straight up into the air, eighty feet off the ground. He then sped straight toward the house, the box securely tightened, loaded with shrunken foods and goods waiting for consumption or cooking. The box had to be filled, as there were a large amount of workers to feed in a week. It wasn't easy keeping up with the flow, but everyone kinda served themselves, no questions asked. They all followed Kitten's lead, and his lead was to provide for the project as directed. Of course, him being the director was what gave him the freedom to do as he wished in his spare time, but he always came through for his workers if they had a request. They all received free lodging, medical care, dental, clothing, food, whatever they needed, and they all got paid an additional one-thousand dollars apiece every week to spend on whatever they wanted. Nobody ever knew where Kitten got the money, but it was all real money, and it was always accepted without question by the cashiers. Some people suspected that he stole it. Some believed he made it. He didn't have the gall to tell them the truth about who his father really was and how the money _really _came into his possession. He hated lying to everyone, but it was for their own good. If they knew too much, they could overpower him rather than believe in him, and he hated violence. He didn't want this plan to fall through. And if the truth got out before he believed it would be alright, how could he ever get the cult back together?

He landed in front of the garage, still thinking heavily. It would be at least the beginning of June before they would be able to do a concert. He knew there was no way that they'd be able to get dances and music together for all of Miley's songs before late May, and then it was at least a week, possibly ten days of rehearsals. He didn't like the wait, but it was what was necessary. He hoped that they'd all catch on to the dancing and singing and playing very quickly and master it all shortly because he needed to make his statement as soon as was physically possible.

But why the rush? If he could wait for the summer, then it would be warm, and everyone would be secretly trying to stay up late anyways. It would be easier, certainly, because they'd have more time to practice. He shook his head, pulling the bike into the garage. The wait wouldn't work. It would be too late. He had to keep his father on his toes, and the only way to do that was to uphold his promise. If he waited, then the people would only lose more hope than they'd already been deprived of. They'd begin to die inside, and he wasn't about to let the nation die and rot away. There was no greater purpose in his mind, nothing that had ever been more important to him, than saving his country from total self-destruction. He would violate every rule in the book if it meant keeping the country alive. The world was in need of saving; before long, all the global economies would fail since the United States had stopped trading with the outside. Everyone would die off or war against the country, but it was easy for the country to synthesize a barrier to deflect the blows. It only took some dirt and an electrical current nowadays. After that, you just had to say where to put it. The world would eventually die off until the United States dominated the entire globe, and then civilization would be under the monarch's control. And if the whole world were under his control in twenty-five years, then he would be called emperor. Your Excellency, that which he used to mock his father, would become the only acceptable thing to say to the invincible leader. He couldn't let that happen. Not if he had anything to say about it.

But if he waited, then he'd be the one to inherit the throne, right? And why wouldn't he be able to change it then? He'd be in his forties or fifties, so he'd probably pass it off to his children. Wait, children? Didn't he have to choose someone first. He squeezed his head in frustration, gently maneuvering the bike into its parking slot. This was such a nightmare. How could the world have given in so easily, become so fucked up, by one man and a small army. He had only guessed at how much it would take to defeat the government, and he had guessed right. His son was a bit more practical and methodical. But even he had no idea how many it would take to bring down the monarchy. He needed the entire country planning a simultaneous attack on the country's leader. And he would wait for the monarch to emerge, and then it would be father against son. He had to win. His father was not fit to rule. There was no way he could let his father keep the world in endless darkness. No way. It could not happen.

He was angry and mashed his finger into the elevator's button. The box rested beside his feet, sitting still, motionless. It was impossible for him to win alone. He needed everyone on his side. And because he couldn't get more than five miles off the coast without being tracked and sniped out of the sky, he had no way of communicating with other countries about the situation. He didn't have any access to phone numbers or online databases. All internet sites were monitored by the government, and since none of them were anything but American sites, all the other international sites had dropped by a considerable amount of payment, of page references, of businesses. Several of the pages had caused their providers to go bankrupt from the sudden termination of contract with the United States' internet link. It was unfair. An impossible advantage that the country had over the world. It deserved to be lacerated, just as it had lacerated others.

He scowled as the elevator took its time dropping. He should have been happy that he finally had food that he could share, but it wasn't enough. He was always providing for the cult, always going out of his way to meet everyone else's needs. He never really seemed to stop giving. He had even still contacted his father after the confrontation and requested another conversation. It was not right of him to shun his own father, was it? Then he sighed. The man was no longer his father. He had become a blinded monster, corrupted by his own lust for money. But then was his son any different, lusting for these two girls? Even as he strode down the hallway toward their room, box in hand, the resizer in his pocket charged with electricity and ready to generate proper-sized food, he couldn't shake the unnerving feeling that he was indeed just as bad as his father, even if in a different area of corruption. It was a sickening feeling. He suddenly lost his appetite.

He knocked gently on the door and set the box down in the hall, entering quietly. He slipped his contacts in and they provided a gentle amount of red light for him to see with, one that would not hurt his eyes or theirs. The first figure his gaze found was Lilly, her eyes closed, deep in dream. She looked like she'd been crying even after the reassurance in the board-room earlier that day. Her wavy golden locks hung down, splayed out over the pillow and her head as she'd tossed and turned while he'd been out. He sighed quietly. Poor Lilly. Oliver mush have really gotten to her for her to be this distressed.

Miley slowly sat up and gazed at the red light coming from his contacts. She stretched and yawned quietly, slipping slowly from the bed. She stumbled a bit when she stood, having tripped over her own clothes, but made her way to the figure at the door. She smiled. He pulled the lenses out and put them back in the container in his pocket, returning the smile.

"I didn't want to disturb you," he whispered quietly. She giggled just as quietly.

"I heard the elevator. I didn't really sleep. Not deeply, at least. I...I was too excited."

"Excited? About what?"

She put a finger to his lips, gazing at him with hopeful eyes. He blinked twice, unsure of what to do. Unsure, that is, until she embraced him tightly and very openly; she pressed every possible inch of her body up against his. He looked down at her, meeting her gaze, as his arms automatically found their place around her body. He swallowed, still unsure. Even she looked nervous; her bottom lip wobbled almost in sadness.

"I...I have a secret," she whispered to him. She laid her head against his shoulder, and he did likewise with hers. Her lips drew close to his ear and sucked in a shaky breath.

"I...have a s-secret..." she whispered again. He swallowed again.

"What is it?" he asked, still whispering.

"C-close your eyes," she murmured shakily. He obliged and felt her forehead meet his chin. She gently lifted his head up, and then he felt the space in front of his face warm up a bit as he sensed her get nearer. The exhalations from her mouth touched his lips gently, and he could almost feel them they were so close. Her nose brushed against his, foreheads near together.

"I...I think I'm...i-in l-love..."

"With who?" he asked tentatively. She licked her lips, gazing at his still closed eyelids. Slowly, her own eyes slid closed, and she brought her lips up, just grazing his. She shivered in his arms, never pulling away, only tightening her grip a little.

"With y-you," she responded.

Her gentle kiss connected with his, and he felt electrified, as though he'd stuck his tongue into a light-socket. He felt her sigh into him, even without opening her mouth, just holding her lips to his, an innocent kiss. It was so sweet, so pure, and she melted into his arms while he struggled to keep his knees from buckling. To think that he'd been wondering just who to ask not even an hour before.

She tentatively pulled back a bit, but closed the gap again, slowly working her lips with his. He was stunned. So was she. It was like a power surge had met them both and blown their minds. It was impossibly good, impossibly sweet, and so irresistible that neither of them wanted to end their moment. Finally, Miley retracted a bit, touching the tip of her nose to his, their foreheads together. She opened her eyes slowly at the same moment that he did and gazed steadily and worriedly at him.

"Wow..." he croaked. His voice seemed to be caught somewhere between his stomach and his belly button. It was very hard for him to speak, and he tried swallowing, only to end up with an even more dried out throat. It had been so simple and pure, but yet it had caused sensations within him that he had never known existed. It was such a blissful feeling knowing that she was his.

"Was it too much?" she asked worriedly. He smiled reassuringly.

"Miley...if I'd have known a month ago, I'd have told you."

She grinned, relieved and stunned. He had accepted her so quickly, so openly that she hadn't the faintest idea what to say. He tickled her lips with his own again, and they glued their mouths together. Finally, after waiting for so long for each other, they were at peace and had gotten what they had wanted.

Neither of them noticed that Lilly had woken up and was watching them, her eyes just poking over the edge of the comforter. She was destroyed. Crushed. There was no chance in hell that she'd ever be with Miley, not if she was crazy for him. He was so cool and collected, and she was so wild and reckless and irrational. She gazed on at her best friend as she gently, very gently, almost as though unsure of herself, kissed at his lips. She was livid, beyond livid, and yet she was overcome by an almost inhuman amount of depression. She had never been so sad, so distraught, so angry in her life. She had given up so much with Oliver, and now she was forced to give up even more now that Miley was attracted to him, and he was attracted to her. And as she silently cried tears of an untold truth she had hidden away even from herself, she reminded herself that she had told Miley to talk to him. She had brought it upon herself. And what killed her so much was that she hadn't confessed. She hadn't told Miley how she felt. And now, she would never be able to.

Because the girl she loved was in love with another person, and that person wasn't her.

She slammed her eyelids shut, trying to block the horrible feelings washing over her, but it was no use. She felt dead. Empty. Life no longer had purpose so long as she couldn't love Miley. It was over. She was done. She had lost, and now she would succumb to the defeat. Even if the pills were gone, he had forgotten her razorblades for her shaving razor. There was always an escape from pain. Always.

He finally bid her goodnight and shut the door. Miley gently tiptoed back into bed, noticing that Lilly was awake and was crying.

"Lilly?" she called gently? The blonde offered no response. Miley had to roll her over to get a look at her broken face, her defeated spirit.

"Lilly, what's wrong?" There was genuine concern in her voice.

_Oh, nothing. Just the fact that I'm in love with my best friend, who happens to be in love with Kitten. No, nothing's wrong at all, Miley. I mean, why would you even think that? _"I...I just...Oliver..." she choked out, crying even more. She slapped herself mentally. It wasn't healthy for her to be crying for two reasons at once.

"Lilly...my Lilly..." Miley cooed, drawing the blonde up to her. The girl wept quietly into her friend. Miley stroked her hair, gently shushing her and telling her that everything would be alright.

"I...I'm never going t-to be able to l-love again," she hiccuped.

"What? Why?"

"Oliver's gone...seeing you and Kitten reminded me of how happy I was with him...a-and now he's just...just...gone..."

Another set of floodgates opened. It was true; she had remembered all the happy memories she'd had with Oliver when they'd been younger. It had indeed stirred up old, long-dead feelings of hurt, comfort, solace, and happiness. She'd never been happy like she had when she had her best guy friend by her side. They could take on the world and come out on top and he had disappeared. She missed him terribly. Miley had no clue. She could never know the pain Lilly was in.

"I-I'm gonna get a glass of water, Miley..."

The brunette let go of her friend and sighed. "Lilly...I'm sorry..."

_No you aren't. You don't even have a fucking clue. That's how good of a friend you are. Thanks, Miley...thanks for everything. _She nodded and shuffled into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. A flick of the light switch and the room was bathed in a gentle pinkish glow from the old bulb that hung from the ceiling above her. She ran the faucet and filled up a cup, drinking it slowly to stabilize her heart and mind.

_There's only one way out. Dead._

She lowered the half-empty cup and grabbed her razor. She popped the blade cartridge out of the slot and extracted one of the shiny, lethally-sharp blades, holding it between her fingertips so that the blade protruded outward.

_One nick on my vena amoris. I'll be gone in less than five minutes._

Her heart rate sped up as she lined up the blade with her wrist. The vein protruded a bit from the pale underside of her arm, and she paused, waiting. Waiting for the moment. Waiting for something to give her a sign.

She lifted her right hand into the air, holding the blade securely, until it was about three inches from her wrist, perpendicular to the veins she intended to slice. It would be quick. Easy. Almost painless. She'd die happy; she'd heard stories that people who died of blood loss or suffocation went happily because the brain produced endorphins while they died. She let her eyes fill with tears and shut her eyelids angrily.

She waited. Waited for something. Anything. Nothing gave her any sign. She wasn't any stranger to the knife, so why did she pause? Where was the fire?

Her heart sped up again, and she lifted the blade just a little higher. Her right arm twitched, and she brought it down across her wrist. At the exact instant that the blade made contact with her skin, the bathroom door opened and there stood Miley, hands on her hips, wondering what was taking so long. Lilly had her eyes scrunched tightly shut, waiting.

Miley saw Lilly bring her arm down, saw the blade flash, saw Lilly curl up in pain. She screamed. The brunette rushed over and ripped the blade from her friend's hand, throwing it into the trashcan. Lilly opened her eyes finally and looked straight into Miley's. She was not doing anything to hide her fear; she was terrified everywhere, shaking all over, her arms on her friend's shoulders. And Lilly was suddenly hit by the reality of what she had done.

"Miley...I'm going to die..."

Miley held up the blonde's left wrist. There was no mark in sight. The razor had slashed across the bottom of a bracelet that Lilly happened to be wearing; there was a very faint, but visible, line where the blade had struck and cut. Miley's lip wobbled, her eyes watering.

"Lilly..."

The blonde looked dumbly at her wrist. Her knees collapsed and she fell to the floor, feeling faint. Miley knelt beside her, the tears leaking silently down her face. Lilly turned and gazed dimly at Miley, still silent, weak, limp.

"Miley...I..."

The floor rushed up to meet her. Her eyes were open, her ears worked, and the only things she knew were that Miley had caught her head in her lap and was sobbing uncontrollably over her friend's very lucky body. And Lilly was struck by the magnitude of everything and began sobbing into her friend's leg, distraught, disgraced, alone.

Neither of them moved that night. They spent the night in the bathroom, cried themselves to sleep, and dreamt of nothing but blackness, crushing pain, and horrid suffering.

* * *

**_Not the best way to end a chapter, but I was trying to see if I could bring you guys to your knees in tears. There is a legitimate reason for having this attachment to Lilly, Miley, and Kitten as the focal points of the story; they're the three main characters. One of them will die, I will say that right now. I will not say who or when, but just remember that one of them is guaranteed to die._**

**_On such a sad note, I bid you adieu until I next update. Sorry if it wrenched your heart into tears; I'll try to keep the sorrow to a minimum if at all possible. :)_**


	4. Lose It

**_A/N: Sorry for leaving you guys hanging in that last one. That was a bad way to kill a chapter. And this one isn't much softer. I'm going to try and make the next one happy, though. They all deserve a little happiness once in a while, right? Especially considering I'm torturing them with emotions and consequences. _**

**_Hoh: I'm sorry for the confusion...It ends up being a Liley. To everyone who needed to know, THIS IS A LILEY STORY. It just takes a while to progress to that point. I'd say you'll see the first signs of it in Chapter 6. I have to write one more chapter where they prepare for the concert, just an example of how they prepare and what the run-through is._**

**_lil-ying-fa: Lilly couldn't cut herself. I won't let her. I had to throw that in there, though, because it provokes emotional instability on her part. It all plays in, trust me._**

**_Alright, go ahead and read now. I know you're dying to anyways._**

* * *

Miley jolted awake. She blinked irritably under the light from the bathroom, stretching slowly to pop her neck and back. Sleeping in the bathroom probably wasn't the most comfortable way to go. Why was she in there, anyways?

Then she remembered, mid-stretch, arms reached high over her head. Lilly.

She skittered to the trashcan on all fours, gazing into it. The blade was still there. It glinted evilly in the light. Miley fought back tears.

_Lilly almost died because of me..._

She let a tear fall into the can, where it pinged on the blade. She watched it roll down the edge of the razor, but it was no longer a tear-drop, it was a blood drop. Lilly's blood. Red and angry, her life dripping away, wasting away in front of her eyes. Miley was horrified. She had no idea that Lilly was a cutter. She had to help her friend. There was no way Miley was going to give Lilly up for dead so easily.

She stood shakily, fighting the urge to let her knees buckle. She stumbled from the bathroom, blinking blearily in the darkness. The clock on the nightstand was a blur with the tears in her eyes, the light from behind her clicking out as she flicked the switch off, plunging the room into total darkness. Miley tripped over her clothes again and landed on the bed, the clock gazing her in the face.

Four twenty-four in the morning. She sighed. She had essentially gotten twelve hours of sleep, yet she still looked very tired. She _felt _tired. Dead-tired. She mentally slapped herself. She would not die. Neither would Lilly. She would protect their lives to the end.

_But what of Kitten?_

She decided that he could most likely care for himself and defend that which he should defend, that which he could defend on his own. He was so independent, so strong. It was like he oozed power and happiness. Yeah, she had it _bad _for him. Then why was it if she was so happy, so appreciated and loved, that she felt guilty?

_Lilly, perhaps?_

Was Lilly really a factor in this equation? Was it a love-triangle between them? But what role would Lilly play in a love-triangle where the couple happened to be in love? And how was it even feasibly possible that she would be angry or upset

_Or jealous?_

Jealous? Of what? She couldn't be. There was nothing to be jealous of. She had specifically _told _Miley to go talk to him and tell her how she felt. So she couldn't be jealous of Miley for having confessed, right? But then...was Lilly jealous of Kitten?

_She loves you._

The thought scared the brunette. She jumped out of the bed and threw her clothes on hastily, not bothering to brush the wrinkles away or the tangles from her hair. Lilly's pajamas ended up on the floor in a heap, a heap from which Miley backed away slowly. Lilly couldn't be jealous. Period. Because she could only be jealous of Kitten. And if she was jealous of Kitten, then that meant that she was in love with Miley. Ludicrous!

_That's insane! She can't be in love with me...can she?_

Now Miley was torn. She wasn't sure whether or not she could come to terms with her friend's possible affection toward her. It wouldn't make sense. It would be totally opposite of everything she had ever learned as a child, that same-sex couples didn't work. They were frowned upon.

But the more Miley thought about it as she tiptoed cautiously down the dark hallway, the more open to the idea she was. She liked Kitten because he was absolutely amazing in her eyes, but she had known Lilly longer and knew more about her. Kitten was so guarded to the outside world that he could be a total stranger for all she knew. And Lilly...was her best friend. They clicked. They were constantly balancing each other out, like Yin and Yang, or hot and cold, on or off.

_Gah, so confusing. I have to talk to Lilly._

She strode to the elevator and pushed the button to go to the board-room. She had a hunch that she would be found in there.

_(time lapse backwards)_

"You and I got a problem, dude," Lilly said loudly. Kitten turned around to see her standing on the far end of the table behind him, while he had been staring at the clock while standing in front of his seat. He blinked at her and then smiled.

"Ah, Lilly. Nice to see you're up so early. It's only three in the morning, you know."

"Fuck you."

He raised an eyebrow, the smile faltering a bit.

"You...you're a fucking asshole, you know that?"

"Well, that's one way to say good morning, I suppose. What seems to be the matter?"

"You."

"We've established this," he said with a light chuckle. "What _about _me?"

"Miley."

Both of his eyebrows lifted. "What does she have to do with anything?"

"I saw you both last night. You kissed her."

The accusing tone in her voice seemed mildly humorous to him, even though she was angry and serious. "I take it you disapprove?"

"Highly."

"And why is that?"

"I'm not going to explain it to you."

"Then would you like this discussion to be over?"

"No! I'm not done with you, you slimy, loathsome little wretch!"

He laughed. "Harsh words. Why are you angry, exactly?"

"You stole her from me."

"So now you're going to explain?"

"_If you'd shut up, maybe I'd be able to tell you!_"

He opened his mouth to say something, decided against it, and let it close. Lilly fumed for a moment before regaining her composure.

"Look. I don't know what it is that you've cast over Miley, but I don't like it. I hate that she's always more interested in spending time with you or asking your opinion over mine. It's been like this since we got here and I'm sick of it."

"So then why not tell her to snap out of it?"

"Because I don't want to hurt her."

"And I do?"

"Just...gah, what's the use. Maybe I have to make it clear some other way."

He waited. Finally, she made up her mind and strode up to him. She latched her hands onto his cheeks and dragged his head down to her eye level.

"I'm going to make this very clear for you, so pay attention."

He blinked, his silent motion for her to continue. She sighed.

"I don't know how she will take it if she ever finds out, but I don't have the nerve to tell her. I...I feel so stupid, and it would never work, but...Kitten...I love her."

Her words were like ice to his body. He felt limp and weak and numb. He reminded himself that he should have seen it coming, but it was still a shock to him. He swallowed and looked at her face. Her eyes were sad and dazed, as though she couldn't believe she was admitting it.

"A-are you sure?"

She nodded, chewing on her lip. He sighed.

"Lilly, why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I can't even tell Miley. How am I supposed to say something like that to her when she's now proclaimed her love for you?"

"Because while we may love each other and love spending time together, we may not be _in _love with each other. She might see me as an addiction, but you're her best friend. You should tell her."

"But...but how? A-and when?"

He sighed, pulling his head free of her limp hands, which fell to her sides. He scratched the back of his head, thinking.

"I honestly don't know. I suppose you could do it at the concert or something."

"Of course! That would be perfect! But...I don't know how..."

"Lilly, if it means that much to you, I'll help you out. She won't know either. But I think that I'll hint to Miley to put True Friend down as the last song on the list so that you can make your announcement right before it."

She clapped her hands together and grinned. "That would be amazing!"

"I think it would. You don't have to kiss, just pledge your feelings to her or something. It would definitely boost the crowd's morale and you'd get to have her as yours."

"But...wait, that means you're giving her up! You can't do that!"

"Why not?"

"She'll be crushed, Kitten!"

"She'll understand. I'm not an idiot, Lilly. I can think for myself enough to know how to tell her that it would be best if we held off a bit until all this stress and pressure is gone or lessened. She may be upset at the suggestion of having to wait, but that just gives you the opportunity to move right in."

"Wow...you're good."

"Hey, hey, I'm not a heart-breaker. I'm just a peace-keeper. I don't like the idea of her being upset, and you'll be able to make her happier than I could any day."

"But...what will you do for happiness?"

"Hey, there's a whole world of people out there. Something will turn up. One way or another, it'll all be okay. Now, let's stop talking about such a dim subject and eat some food."

Lilly glanced over his left shoulder and noticed that there was a large plastic table erected in the corner laden with food and goodies. She gasped and almost began drooling. Kitten laughed.

"Go ahead and eat. I'm only going to end up calling everyone in here eventually."

He fell backwards and landed in his chair, which thankfully had some cushion on the seat and backing, though not enough for him to hide the slight wince of pain that crossed his face. Lilly, however, had food on her mind and paid no attention to him. Pancakes, bacon, eggs of scrambled, poached, and fried varieties, sausage, hashbrowns, fries, biscuits, muffins, toast both buttered and unbuttered, syrup, ketchup, butter, jam, everything. Everything that anyone could have ever wanted to eat for breakfast was there. Lilly grabbed a plate and filled it, not bothering to wait to sit at the table before digging in. She stumbled over and began scarfing while trying to put her butt in a chair. She was so hungry it amazed her she hadn't passed out.

Kitten gazed at his phone, something that was a work of art in itself: it was a single pane of glass and had an ultra-sensitive touchscreen response system. The gadget had no wires or visible computer chips of any kind within it and worked just like a hand-held computer. It was a technological marvel, and one that he had poured quite a pretty penny into to have constructed. He owned one of three, the other two belonging to the girls. They didn't need to know how much it had cost him to get ahold of three of them. That was better left alone.

Lilly belched and sighed. Kitten could make out four plates on the other side of his phone, all surrounding one very full Lilly as she leaned back slightly in her chair. He chuckled.

"Full?"

She nodded. He put his phone away and gathered her dishes, stacking them in a box underneath the table. They would be washed later by the dance-team, as they had been enlisted to help with cleanup for that day. It was non-obligation-based, but everyone wanted to pay Kitten back for making everything possible.

"So, Lilly. What are we going to do about your ring?"

"Oh, shit...I'm broke..." She nearly broke down crying. He laughed.

"Hey, hey, relax. It's not like I'd want to help you and not have connections or resources."

"Kitten, no. I can't. I want to pay for it myself."

"But you don't have a legitimate job."

She paused. "Yeah, I know," she mumbled sadly. "There goes the plan."

He laid his hand on hers comfortingly. "I'll take you out shopping. It's on me. I've got connections to a diamond company that can get you whatever you want, however you want, no matter how gaudy or petite it need be."

She smiled. "Kitten...I'm sorry for being angry before. I just...I was caught, you know?"

He flicked his hand a couple of times, waving off the apology. "Don't even let it bother you. I forgave you before you even started speaking."

She sighed. "It's just so hard, you know? Not being able to have the one you love...Hey, wait. How are you going to cope with this?"

"I'll be fine. Like I said, everything will be fine. It'll all go smoothly, and you'll be happy, and I'll be happy just knowing you. I'm actually blessed by your presence every day that passes by because it means that this is all real and it's all happening."

She sighed. "So cliché and sentimental, Kitten...you're easily pleased, aren't you?"

"Easily." He laughed. "Come on. We'll take my vehicle to the diamond shop. It's in Colorado, so you may want to hang on tight."

"Colorado? How are we going to get there?"

"Simple: my bike flies."

She smacked her forehead. "I should've at least remembered that much..."

He grinned. "Let's go. You'll like this place."

And with that, they trekked into the elevator and up to the bike.

_(time lapse forward)_

"Lilly?"

Miley looked around the board-room, half-past-four in the morning. She was nowhere to be seen, though there was a table on the far end of the room full of food. Miley couldn't help but rush over and grab some; she was insanely hungry. After loading a plate, she sat at her usual place and began devouring the food, which went surprisingly quickly. She placed the dirtied dish into the box below the table and turned just as the elevator opened.

Kitten got out and the doors shut immediately behind him. She smiled happily and skipped over to his cheerful figure. "Hey there," she teased, winking.

"Hey, yourself," he replied. She gave him a gentle peck on the cheek. His expression faltered a bit.

"What's wrong, Kitten?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing..."

She grabbed his hand. "What's wrong?"

"Miley...you're amazing."

"But...?"

He sighed. "I won't lie to you. I like you a lot. And I could even go so far as to say I love you."

She smiled. "I love you too."

"But...I don't think I'm _in_ love with you."

"What? How...but...what about last night?"

"Last night, I felt something, I did. Something amazing, something unreal, unlike anything I've ever felt before. I longed for it to keep going, Miley."

"I did too," she said breathily, leaning forward. "We could do it again now, if you want."

"Actually...I would love it, but..."

"But?"

"But I think I'm going to have to politely decline."

She had a very confused look on her face. "So...you're saying no to a relationship?"

He nodded, looking glum. "I'm sorry, Miley. I have a lot on my plate and there's so much stress right now. I just don't think I could handle having to juggle it all and keeping up with you, too, and I don't want to disappoint you with the future."

"You could never disappoint me," she said stubbornly. He sighed, pulling her into a gentle embrace. She clung to him like a leaf on a tree.

"Miley, I love you. You're utterly amazing. For you to share feelings with me...it blows my mind, even though it's real."

"So then why can't we be together?"

"I can't, Miley. I think I love you, but I'm not _in _love with you. Not right now. Not yet."

She shook her head into his chest. "I thought you loved me..."

"I do love you, Miley. Don't ever forget that. I love you with all my heart?"

"Then why don't you want this?" she demanded, looking into his eyes angrily. He could see tears forming.

"I do want this. But I can't have it right now."

"Why not? We're both here, we love each other, why not have it now rather than later?"

"Because I...I think it's a little premature. I...I have a ton of stuff going on, and I know you do too, and I think it would be better if we held off until things got a little easier on us both."

She sighed. "So it's not a no?"

He nodded. "I'm not saying no, I'm saying not right now."

She clung to him tightly. "When?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"When all of this is over."

"But that could take years!"

"I'm willing to wait, whatever it takes. Are you?"

She inhaled shakily, then nodded into his chest. "It just hurts my heart, not being able to be with you."

He swallowed past the lump in his throat. He was giving up what he wanted so very badly for Lilly's best interest. _For Lilly. Do it for Lilly. She needs Miley more than you do._ He gulped and stroked her hair gently.

"I know. But there's so much going on that you'd hardly ever see me. And what if we fought while trying to get things back to normal? I don't think we'd be good cult mates if we did that halfway through the plan."

She nodded again. "I just...I really want this."

He kissed the top of her head. "I want it too, love, but something is telling me that we need to wait. There's too much going on and not enough time between us to enjoy each other's company."

She sighed heavily, falling into his chest. She looked up, eyes clear, sadness melted into her facial features. She looked like she would never be happy again.

"Smile for me, Miley. I'm not going anywhere."

"But you aren't _mine..._"

"Just give it time. Let everything settle and repair itself. Then, when there's time afterward, we'll be together."

She nodded, blinking her tears back into her eyes. He helped lift her back to her feet, and she leaned in, attaching her lips to his. It felt so good, so right.

_Why did I ever have to break it off? Why?_

_For Lilly. It's all for Lilly. She needs Miley more than you do._

Miley gently pulled away from the kiss, still lost in the moment. Kitten felt a buzz running through his limbs, a natural high that just one kiss had given him. He instantly felt better, and when she opened her eyes, it was clear that she did too.

"Alright. I'll try. I'll wait for us, Kitten."

He nodded, smiling. "Thank you, Miley. Thank you so much."

She smiled back. "Only you," she mumbled dreamily, wandering toward the elevator. It took her down to the dorm level, where she went back to her room to freshen up. Meanwhile, Kitten jumped back on the table and stood at his end, gazing at the clock as he had been earlier that morning. He had just given up the one thing he had wanted from day one and would never be getting it back. It suddenly hit him full force, socking him in the throat, the chest, the stomach, the groin. He felt like a thousand crushing hands were groping at his body, and he fell to his knees, dropping backwards onto the table, his arms splayed, legs bent at odd angles, hair crushed beneath him. His jacket and button-up white shirt flayed open, the purple shirt underneath becoming visible. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily, shaking, his body suddenly freezing.

_If I let it go_

_If I let this go_

_If I let it go_

_Would the scars continue to show?_

The words ran through his mind and he couldn't help but feel like the world was slowly crushing him, suffocating him, his heart an orange to be strained, his stomach a punching back, his intestines a jumprope, his groin a hackey-sack. Nothing was right anymore. He had just given up the only thing that he had ever wanted because Lilly had asked him to. He knew that he would never get her back now, not now that Lilly was interested, not now that he was broken, beat, and scarred. He moaned as he laid on the table, feeling exhausted, just laying there, letting the cold, hard wood remind him of his cold, hard decision. He had given up everything just because Lilly had asked.

And yet, he could not hate Lilly. She had loved Miley for longer than he had, had known the girl longer than he had, and was not at fault for what had taken place. He still cared for her, even though she had been the cause of his behavior. He hated it. It wasn't right. But he didn't hate her. She was just the way he felt, love-struck, and he was willing to give to her that which he had given up. He was always so willing to give up his possessions to other people without complaint. He sighed and began to quietly sing in the silence.

_Even if I say_

_It'll be alright_

_Still I hear you scream_

_You want to end your life_

_Now and again we try_

_To just stay alive_

_Maybe we'll turn it all around _

_Cuz it's not too late_

_It's Never Too Late..._

He sighed, struggling to control himself. He was on the border of keeping himself together and breaking down into tears. It was a fight that he was determined not to lose, and as he swallowed past the lump in his throat, trying to keep his stomach settled, a shadow drifted over his face. He could hear the long hair dragging gently on the table, felt the face get closer until the nose touched his. He screwed up his face, still struggling to keep everything in order, trying to stay sane, to stay strong. It was not easy with someone leaning over his face, touching his nose so calmly, so quietly, waiting.

He swallowed again and opened his eyes to see Lilly trying to to cry. He sighed.

"Hey, Lilly," he choked hoarsely.

"You...you're going to cry."

"No...I'm not," he said, closing his eyes tight, struggling to swallow and keep himself sane. He blinked rapidly, the tears retracting into his ducts. "I'm alright."

"No you aren't. You gave her up for me. I know you did. You wouldn't be laying here like this if you did. You'd be with her, happy, yourself."

"I'm still myself," he whispered. "I'm just...trying to deal with it."

One of her tears struck him on the lips. It was all he could do not to break down right then and there. The brunette had meant so much to him and he'd given her up for Lilly, the girl who was crying over him. It wasn't easy for him to stay in one piece. He refused to be broken. He refused to cry. He refused to let himself fall to pieces over Miley.

"You gave her up..."

"Yeah, I did. And I'd do it again to keep you happy. I'd do it a thousand times if it kept you happy."

She sighed, a slight whine in her voice. "You didn't have to."

"Lilly...you deserve to share her love. She just met me. She doesn't know me. You know her. She knows you. You've been friends for longer than I've known you. Like I said to you earlier...everything will be alright. I'll find someone. No matter how long it takes or how hard it is to cope. I'll...I'll pull through. You should go...go tell your girlfriend you're back."

"She's not mine yet...I-I haven't even asked yet," she said, trying to control her sadness. It broke her heart to see her leader so broken up over her best friend, the one that she had a crush on. She knew nothing. It needed to stay that way.

"Lilly...go tell her."

"No. Not now...not after you just told her no. She'll only get confused. I...I'll wait until the concert like you said."

He nodded, his nose rubbing hers. "You can stop crying now, Lilly...You're in the clear now. I'm no longer a factor."

She sighed. "But...you...I did this to you."

"Lilly, listen to me. You moping over this isn't going to make it better for you. She's yours now, not mine. It was my own choice to give her up, not yours. I elected to do this, and I'll deal with the consequences. It's not your burden to bear."

She sniffed, another tear hitting him on the lips. He again struggled with himself to stay together.

"I...I'm sorry, Kitten."

"Just...go," he whispered, locking his eyes shut. He clenched his fists. "Go."

She sniffed and slid off the table, the small box in her front pocket secured to her person. She shuffled to the elevator, then pushed the button. It opened for her and she turned, stepping into the box.

"Kitten-"

"Go!" he cried in a strangled voice. And as the doors slid shut, she felt her own heart sink at what she had done to the leader of their cult. She had brought him to his knees and broken him into pieces. No matter what he said, it would always be her fault in her eyes.

He laid on the table, squeezing his nails into his palms, breaking the skin in several places from the pressure. It was impossible for him to contain himself. He let one hot, angry tear pool up in his eye, where it then slid down his cheek and into his hair. It left a very cold trail, and he was reminded of how cold life now was without her. He growled, jumping to his feet with sudden energy. He stood on the table, looking at the chairs that surrounded it.

The one where Lilly usually sat suddenly flew backward away from the table, smashing into the wall, part of the head-rest splintering and cracking from the impact. Then the next chair followed, and the next, and the next, all the way around the table, they were all kicked violently into the walls until the only chairs left were his and Miley's. He stood in front of her chair and glowered at it.

"Miley, Miley, Miley...You have no clue what it takes," he paused, lifting the chair over his head, "for me to give you up."

He cried out as he threw the chair at the elevator doors. The impact shattered the chair and left a huge dent in the doors; they opened, wobbling, and the elevator stood at his command. He heaved and panted, pissed at the world. Nothing should ever demand he give up what he wanted, nothing. He fought for freedom, for choice, for his cult. He fought for their voices.

_Lilly has a voice, too._

He stomped over into the elevator, and when he turned and pushed the button, he leaned against the back wall and wept. He needed to get to his house, the house he had purchased above-ground, and take a long, much-needed rest. But even as he crawled into the bed after stripping out of his clothing, he was overtaken by a suffocating compressive force at the realization that he had sacrificed his love for Miley Stewart for the better interest of Lilly Truscott, and the realization haunted his dreams all that day.

_(time lapse)_

"Miley? You done in there?"

She came out of the bathroom, a fuzzy towel wrapped around her body, another around her hair. She half-smiled at Lilly in the doorway.

"Hey, Lilly. How...how is everything?"

The blonde held up her wrists. Miley could see no marks on them and nodded, sighing.

"Good, good..."

"Everything okay?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, everything's fine. Just peachy-keen," she said, slowly walking to her dresser, where she began the process of picking a bra to wear. "Why, should something be wrong?"

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant," Lilly quickly assured her. "It...it's just what I heard..."

Miley sighed, her right hand clinging to the garment she had chosen. She slid the drawer shut and sighed, setting the bra on the top of the dresser and looking her friend square in the eyes. Lilly saw anguish and neglect in them.

"He told you, didn't he?"

She nodded sheepishly. Miley sighed, opening the second drawer to find a pair of underwear to put on. Neither of them were disturbed by this; they had seen each other naked plenty of times before, and had even played dress-up through their teenage years. They were practically sisters anyways, so it didn't really bother them.

"I'm...I still don't know what to say," Miley said, speaking to the drawer. She grasped hold of a white lace and tugged the panties free. They matched the lacy bra she had chosen. Only Miley would want to match her undergarments. Lilly refused to smirk; the air in the room told her that it would be a bad idea.

"I...I heard that he just kinda...laid it on you," she said tentatively. Her brunette friend chuckled sadly.

"Yeah...that's kinda the way it went down..."

She turned away from her friend and dropped the towel. Lilly couldn't help but gaze at Miley from behind. She was absolutely gorgeous, even with her hair in a towel and her back turned. Lilly's gaze rested on Miley's perfect ass and it was all she could do not to slide up behind her and give it a squeeze or a playful spank.

"Everything look okay back there?"

Lilly looked up. Miley was looking over her shoulder, eyebrow raised. Her bra was only halfway on, the strap in the back still open. Lilly turned red.

"I, um...sorry."

Miley laughed. "Well, don't stand there and stare at it, silly. Come help me clip this."

The blonde stumbled across the threshold and gently clipped her friend's bra. It was an incredible turn-on, knowing that she could easily undo the clip and let it fall back to the floor and off her body. The thought almost elicited a longing sigh from her. Almost.

"Now, if you're done checking me out, you can hand me my underwear."

Miley was obviously laughing at her. She could tell. And it embarrassed the hell out of her, not to mention made her feel angry and upset. She couldn't help what she felt for her friend. And it was all she could do not to cling to her friend's panties and never let go. Regretfully, but with a guarded expression, she handed them to Miley, struggling not to look down. Miley didn't make it any easier; she had turned her body slightly and had bent over so that Lilly got the full view. She sucked in a swift jet of air, hoping she hadn't made any noise. Even from the backside, Miley was absolutely gorgeous to her. It amazed her that she didn't break her self-control and grab hold of her friend in her very compromising position.

And as quickly as the view came, it went, the white panties covering the soft folds of her skin from eyesight. Lilly almost let out a sigh of both relief and disappointment. It was absolute torture to her not to be able to be honest with herself and her best friend. She had done it with Kitten, right? So why was Miley any different?

_Because you love her._

The voice was right, but it didn't help matters.

"So, what did he tell you?" Miley asked resignedly, finally turning to face the blonde, whose eyes had a hard time not darting down toward her chest. This wasn't just mean, it wasn't just torturous. It was downright unbearable. With every ounce of her resolve, Lilly stood stock-still and swallowed.

"Um, well...he said that he let you go because it was going to be too hard for him to manage while this whole psychotic thing is going on. He couldn't truly be happy if he had to contend with saving the country, I guess."

"Yeah, that's kinda what he told me too." Miley sighed, her eyes filling. "I just...don't understand."

"I don't either, Miley," she lied calmly. Lying wasn't something that she was proud of or could do often, but she couldn't risk her friendship. Miley sniffed.

"Lilly...why does it have to hurt so much?"

The blonde sighed. "I don't know, Miley. I just don't know."

The brunette stepped into her arms and cried into her shoulder. Lilly rubbed her friend's bare back, loving the feeling of her skin. It was intoxicating. Everything about her was.

"Lilly...It hurts..."

The blonde gently kissed Miley's cheek. "Just let it out, Miley."

They stood there, locked in embrace, while Miley cried and cried.

_(time lapse)_

"_Your Excellency," he had said. His father had sighed tiredly. The years were beginning to affect the old man; he hadn't even realized that his son had bowed a bit for him, just to be respectful. _

"_Son...dismiss the formalities. I'm not the monarch when we're in this room."_

_So he had paid attention. But he didn't care. He was just a man following his stupid selfish desires._

"_Unfortunately, Your Excellency, your children now see you as such no matter what room in this house we live in. The Shrine of Blood is not a place for the faint of heart or the grand in dream, and it takes a great deal of sacrifice on the part of your daughter especially to put up with the pressures of being eighteen and the child of the world's dictator."_

"_Son, please," the man had said. "You make my heart clench up when you say such things, and I don't think it's a forewarning of a heart-attack." He had frowned at his son, then, standing up and walking slowly around the desk to face his son. "You always treat me like I am a bad man," he had accused. His son had kept his voice level and strong even in saying the curse that he had:_

"_I must treat you as you have demanded to be treated."_

_Such harshness had visibly shaken his father. "Young man, that is no way to talk to your father, monarch or not."_

_The man retaliated against the onslaught. "And this is certainly no way for you to be meeting with your son. Or have you not noticed that your other son, the one who once adored you and longed to fill your shoes, has stopped talking? Or perhaps that your once proud little girl, who always, _always _called you her 'best friend' and cracked stupid jokes about your relationship, now can't even bear to look you in the eyes and call you her 'favoritest daddy' anymore, just as she referred to herself as your 'favoritest daughter' once not so long ago. Once upon a nicer time, Your Excellency," he pressed on, "you were a father to us. You were the beacon of light that we followed. You were the power that we believed in. But once upon today, you have now contorted your image into that of hatred and misery. I can no longer have calm, personal talks about my life with you, and I am just one year above the drinking age which you intend to raise to twenty-five. Do you really think I can show my support for you as a man, father or monarch, when you put innocent lives to death for no reason?"_

_Despite his calm tone, the man had exploded. A vein pulsed in his temple at the condescending tone. "Stop right now, young man!" he cried out. "You have no right to talk to me in such a manner. You have no idea how much trouble I go through each day to assure that your lives are taken care of, that you all live to see another day. Don't you see how what I've done for you has created a brighter future for you all?"_

_His son had paused for a moment before continuing, counting his words in his mind, monitoring everything that he said. He intended to rile his father up into a frenzy, not cause him to lose his mind. "The only thing I see, Your Excellency, is fifty million people who are all mindless robots that are intended to do your bidding. You have taken advantage of the public's ignorance and stupidity and now brainwashed them into submission. You have now falsely presumed that your children should thank you for their future when we cannot. We cannot overlook that which you have created, that what you have done. Perhaps you've forgotten, Your Excellency," he paused just a fragment of a syllable for emphasis, "but I begged you on my knees, with tears in my eyes and a plummeting, sickened feeling in my heart. I choked out the plea to release the members of the revolt because I knew one of them in particular personally. We were close friends, Your Excellency, and you took him away from me. The day you damned yourself in my eyes was the day you sentenced Special Classification Oken to death."_

_There. He had said it. All cards were laid out on the table. His father was both angry and defeated._

"_I had no choice, son! What would it have looked like if I would have let him go?"_

_The man was angry, boiling with rage, but he kept his calm. "The people would have had a chance to believe in a brighter future. And now you've crushed everyone's hopes and dreams, including those of your children. But it's not just us that it affects. That black man in the hallway, the one that you yell at and curse out, the one who is always so kind and respectful to you, the one that I pay extra money to for dealing with your bullshit...he's a true American, Your Excellency. He still believes in you. He believes in a brighter tomorrow, a possible escape from this hellhole of a prison you've bound your country in. he too has hopes and dreams and a family that he must go home to at the end of each day, and it is a blessing to them all if he comes home alive that evening." He drew a breath, still staring into his father's eyes. "You have created the world's most powerful, most secure, most feared empire, and you've destroyed the inhabitants that support you so unwillingly. Perhaps, Your Excellency, you need to take a step back from your position of power, step out of your own shoes and into his. Because it is not just your children you have neglected and pissed on, no. No, sir, you have pissed on your entire country, and are now proceeding to laugh at the clean-up effort."_

_His father was furious, so angry that he didn't have anything particular to respond with. "If you so much as say one more word, I will have you escorted from the premises." The man almost laughed at the feebleness of the attempt at a threat._

"_Ah, excellent, just the way you drove mom away from you. Don't you remember what that did to your other children? I was already almost an adult and it wasn't such a big pressure for me to deal with, but your son was crushed especially, and your daughter resorted to using sex and alcohol as a way out of the pain. You weren't there for your kids. You weren't even there for your wife. And now the same prophecy reflects on your control of your country. You won. You own the place. But you aren't there for your people. You don't take anything they may have to say into consideration. This country is a fucking death camp, Your Excellency, and if you don't do something to change it, I will use all force necessary to tell you to stand the fuck down."_

"_What are you fucking me for, boy? Is this some kind of sick fucking joke to you?"_

"_I assure you, Your Excellency, I am not attempting to pull the wool over your eyes. I may not be able to call you father anymore, but I at least maintain a shred of respect and dignity for my elders, and that unfortunately includes yourself in my book. I am not lying when I say that I will bring you down if necessary. You can either take my hand and follow my lead to change the world that you've created, or you can doom yourself to eternal damnation while the sound of crackling fire surrounds you and consumes you from the outside and the inside simultaneously. This is not a death threat. This is a warning. It is the only one you will get from me. If you refuse to heed it, I will do whatever is necessary to see to it that you are removed and another is instated in your place."_

"_You've crossed the line, boy. It is one thing to insult and damn your father, but to outright defy him? I will have you disciplined for this, boy. No son of mine will talk to me in this manner, and no son of mine will threaten me with upheaval."_

"_Then you have damned yourself, Your Excellency. And if no son of yours shall do such things, then I am no longer your son."_

_The man proceeded to drag his fingers through his hair, releasing the mousse-like hairnet that he had been using to keep his hair down. It all sprung up and re-fluffed itself. He then looked expectantly at his father._

"_What the hell is this folly, boy?"_

"_I forewarned you. You called my bluff. Problem is, it wasn't a bluff. I will be cleaning out my office and my room, and I will be moving away where I will meet with my cult, and we will come back to haunt you, Your Excellency. Do not take a threat from me lightly."_

_He had then dropped the suit to the floor, preferring the outfit of total rebellion he wore beneath it. He reached the door amid his father's angry shouts. "No son of mine will-"_

"_I'm not your fucking son," he had interjected angrily. He had only just barely put any voice behind it, but the sheer impact of the voice had left his father visibly shaken. It was so outrageous that he had literally taken his father and told him to shove it._

_Time seemed to slip forward, where he stood in his room. Everything had been heaped in the middle. He took out a can of gasoline from under the bed, something he had brought in that morning._

"_I told you I'd clean it out, sir. Here you go."_

_He dumped the entire contents of the can onto his possessions from the top of the mountain, watching it trickle down and soak into the carpet and wood. He laughed as he lit a match unconcernedly._

"_Thanks for nothing, Your Excellency," he chuckled, pitching the match into the midst of the heap. It immediately combusted into a huge fireball, but by the time it ignited the man had already left. It would be several more minutes before the alarm would go off, but by then he would have already left, heading south-west toward a nice, tropical island off the coast of Florida, one that he had bought and fortified for his mother and Heather Truscott. He needed to pay them a visit and let them know that everything was going to be okay._

He tossed and turned, unable to stay in bed any longer. The sleep was killing him slowly; the drug was taking effect. He wanted nothing more than to see this through, but it meant that he would only be able to sleep once every two weeks to stay alive. It was torture, and it felt like he was dying inside, but he had long since learned how to cope without sleep. His father had made sure of that.

It had been a day like any other, just after the small upheaval had been had out. He had begged for Oliver to be released and taken back by the cult, but his father had signed the death waiver anyways. Oliver had been taken to a chamber, where poisonous carbon monoxide gas had filled his lungs and stopped his heart. He was dead in five minutes. Kitten, however, had been hoisted from the floor in his father's office, a gun wrenched from his hand. He had intended to kill his father. He had meant it. But he had been taken for an injection, one that was supposed to take the person's mind and bend it to do another's bidding. His father couldn't risk another outburst and had to have his son silenced. Unfortunately, his son's immune system had already been conceived with a bit of immunity to the drug within it, and it had only proceeded to have an adverse effect on him. He could stay up for months at a time, but every time he slept he lost about five years off his life to replenish the spent energy. Kitten was young physically, but had lost more than forty years off his life just in the past year alone. He couldn't keep risking his own premature death in such a way. It always got harder and harder to wake up. And one day, he knew, by the end of August, he would never wake up again. It was a sad truth to come upon, but it was one reason why he had to maintain calm: the more calm and collected and organized he remained, the more smoothly he flowed. The more smoothly he flowed, the longer he could stay awake. The longer he could stay awake, the longer he could live. That was one of the reasons he had latched so securely onto the girls. He loved them both to death, but he wished that he could at least give them the joy of a child. He had no intention of raping them, had never gotten into sex ever, not even when one of his high-school ex-girlfriends had pressured him to the breaking point. He had remained strong and steadfast. He had everything to gain and nothing to lose. And while the drug took its toll on his body, he fought back every day. Every day was just one more excuse to see their smiling faces again, no matter how tired he got. He never even appeared fatigued, the drug was so good. As long as he never slept, he could stay alive.

The monarch didn't know. The only thing he knew of his son was that he was restless at night, unable to sleep with the rest of the house, and that he spent many nights with his light on down the hall, unable to sleep, unable to succumb to death's imminent clutches. It was a losing fight that he had no intention of telling his father about. There was nothing he could tell, nothing that wouldn't eventually get discovered. He just had to keep it under wraps until his father finally got the peace he wanted through his deceased son.

He groaned and rolled over. It was tough to reboot his brain after spending so long awake. He had been running on no sleep for the past five months, since before Christmas, and he had finally taken a break. It would only get worse as the energy was leeched from his body during the production and performances. There was nothing he could do. He had planned to make it to see the next Christmas, but he had resigned himself to August after signing on to be the drummer. He couldn't bear to think of dying, but he knew there was no alternative. Something had to give.

Unless he could get ahold of the cure.

He knew, he _knew_ that the scientist who had injected him had realized what had gone wrong and had extracted a blood sample; he watched the entire proceedings without blinking once. The scientist had gone about making an antidote, and was ready to inject it, but then he had been interrupted by the monarch disengaging his son from the chair and throwing the boy into his room. From then on he had hated his father for taking away his chance at salvation. The scientist had been fired the next day, but he knew who it was. He knew exactly who to go to. The problem was, the man was nowhere to be found. Nothing existed of him. Kitten began to wonder if the man had simply given up and died. One way or another, he either had to die, or he had to get the cure. And he had no interest in putting the girls through the pain of losing him if he didn't need to. There wasn't any sense in that. They didn't need the heartache.

But suppose he got the injection and it worked. Then what? He would have to wait for it to take effect, and he didn't know how long it would take. And what if it didn't work or had gone stale? Then he'd die off just as he'd been originally destined. One way or another, Fate had him grasped in its sticky clutches and was refusing to let go. Death would be welcoming him soon enough. It saddened him to think of his own death being so soon, but he wasn't irrational. He knew that it would have to come to pass eventually. His just happened to be sooner rather than later. It wasn't some life-or-death struggle. It was just the end. Poof. Gone.

He stood up, scratching his side. His purple shirt clung to him, his flannel shorts flaring a bit at the legs. He stumbled into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water. It never really sat right with him; there wasn't ever a taste that water had to make it particularly enjoyable. And yet, he drank half of the bottle in one go. He waited for it to reach his stomach. There wasn't even really a need for him to eat, either. The drug had seen to that. He could go for three weeks without food, and two without water. It was a simple process of slowing his metabolism down to a snail's pace. However, that also meant that he had no excrement, liquid or solid. He was essentially programmed to live forever if he could do away with sleep. It was such a strange feeling to know that he could go for long periods of time without self-care or consideration. He was always clean; sweat didn't need to exist to keep him cool, he just didn't get hot. He was almost always cold anyways; body heat had ceased to be that important when he started wearing thicker, darker, longer clothing in more and more layers. He fit the clothes, and they fit him. It was his style. It had always been his style. And his father had disapproved. Well, look where that had gotten them: his father was an asshole whom everyone wanted to kill, and he was planning the revolt that would inevitably do just that. Ah, the irony.

The remainder of the water finally trickled into his stomach, the bottle landing on the counter beside two others just like it. One bottle of water per day could sustain him. Two was way too much. He had grown used to only ingesting one per day. It satisfied his body's needs. To most it was unhealthy. To him it was just how to live. There was never any need for more. But he did remember what it was like just five years ago before he was injected, when he had to eat three square meals a day to survive. It wasn't the most fun, and the sleeping took up tons of time, but he had to stay healthy. Then this happened, and he began to die a death that was only based on how often he slept. He had to stay strong. He had to stay awake for as long as he could. Even if he predicted August, he could stretch into November should the need arise. But that would only work if he could keep himself awake. He sighed. It was going to be a long few months.

Then the thought of the concert hit him and he smiled. It's all he had to keep him going after giving up Miley. Nothing else was really so important to him. Nothing but bringing the world back. And he was still a bit of a ways off from that. All he could do was lay the foundation and get the cult to come to action. He probably wouldn't live to see the revolt. Nothing would keep him alive that long unless the other states started to catch on. He didn't suspect they would. It wasn't very likely they would even know about the concert until he maneuvered the cult there. Most of northern California wouldn't even know either. Not until after he had moved the concert to San Francisco. He sighed again, suddenly saddened. It was going to take a lot of work. Death just seemed to creep closer and closer to him.

_I will not be a failure to my cult. I will see them through for as long as I can, no matter what it takes._

_(time lapse)_

"Do you think he'll want me when this is all over?"

"What do you mean, Miley?"

"Well, think about it, Lilly. He's interested now. I can tell. I see it in his eyes. But what happens after he wins and we take this country back? What happens when it all comes to a head and then boils over? Where will I be compared to him?"

"Miley...I wouldn't concern yourself with him."

The brunette looked at the blonde and furrowed her eyebrows. "What the hell are you talking about? Weren't you the one who pushed me toward him?"

"That...was before I realized my mistake."

"You think that we were a mistake."

"No, that's not what I meant, Miley. I just...I wanted you to be happy, and you needed each other, or at least it looked that way. Please, that's not what I meant.

"Then what did you mean, Lilly?"

"I...I just...I wasn't really thinking clearly when I told you to go after him."

"And so now you think it was wrong for me to chase him?"

"Well...yes and no..."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I...I want you to be happy, but...I just don't really see it working with him, to be honest."

"But you were the one who pushed me toward him!"

"I know, and I'm sorry...I shouldn't have done it. I just...I wanted you to be happy, like I used to be...like I want to be."

Miley immediately softened. "You wanted to love him through me?"

"Well...kinda. Not exactly, though. I...can't really explain it."

"Lilly, you can tell me anything."

"Not this...it's too soon."

"What is it, Lilly?"

"Miley, please, you have to give me a bit of space."

Lilly was frustrated, not at Miley, but at herself. She couldn't just out and tell her best friend that she was in love with her. That wouldn't fly. As far as she knew, Miley was only interested in guys. And yet, she knew that she had to try. A small voice in her heart told her so.

"I...I can't explain it to you so soon. You aren't ready for it. Not so soon."

"Lilly, I think I can handle it."

"Trust me...this is a little bit big to contend with so soon after him."

"We didn't even technically form a relationship! How could this be so big?"

"It's huge, Miley," Lilly said quietly. The brunette closed her mouth slowly, blinking at her friend in wonder.

"This doesn't have to do with last night...I promise you I will never, ever, _ever _do that to you again. I...I realized my mistake. I was too quick to give in, too quick to let my feelings overrun me. I can't let it happen again. Not like that."

"Lilly-"

"Just hear me out. I...I wanted Oliver so badly last night. I wanted him to help me, to t-tell me what to do. A-and I think now that K-Kitten is a messenger, from God, a-and he is God's way of b-bringing Oliver back...without a body..."

"You...you're in love with him too?"

She sighed. "A little. Nobody can ever replace my Ollie-pop," she choked past the lump in her throat. It was very difficult to talk about him without crying. Miley shushed her gently.

"You can tell me anything, Lilly. Anything you want."

"I can't, Miley...It's like I said, it's too heavy. I...I'll tell you when I'm ready. I'm not in love with Kitten, though. He's just...he's not...not my...my...m-my O-Oliv-v-ver..." she trailed off, her lip wobbling violently. She suddenly found herself crying again, splayed out on Miley's bed, her head in her friend's lap, the brunette just stroking her hair, fighting off her own strain of tears. The pain, the anguish, it refused to leave them alone. It was so agonizingly bitter to be separated from Oliver, and as they both grieved in their own way, they prayed for him. They prayed that he rested in peace, that he would forgive them for what they had done and had yet to do, that he would accept Kitten, that he would protect them from harm. Oliver never broke any promise he made, never, and he was extra-careful about keeping his promises to the girls he had once coexisted with. They felt safe and secure as they drifted into a much-needed nap, a nap that comforted them both as much as they comforted each other.

Little did they know just how rough things would become.

* * *

**_Ominous. I'm sorry for the disease thing with Kitten and the chapter breaks, but it also plays into the story. He's got his own personal reasons for doing this, but at least he's alive. HOWEVER. I have a request that will run until I reach Chapter...12 or so. THIS IS THE CHALLENGE: In every review you give me, you must try to include which of the three main characters, Lilly, Miley, or Kitten, will be killed at the end of this story and WHY. It might be tough to write after reading this and the last chapter, both of which were depressing, but I think you guys can do it. I have faith. :)_**

**_Oh, the songs in the story are Let It Go by Escape the Fate and Never Too Late by Three Days Grace. They're both amazing songs. _**

**_Don't lose hope on me. I promise, I have a story-line written out. SIDE NOTE: I have written half of what I put into my Jimmy Neutron fanfic in one fourth the chapter count. 8D_**


	5. Octavarium

**_A/N: I had this chapter finished about sixteen hours ago (10:30 p.m. PST) and I didn't post it cuz I went to bed, then went to school. I don't know how many readers I have out there; fifty thousand words in five chapters is a lot, and I don't blame people for not wanting to read quite so much of a story. On the other hand, I hope it's at least a fairly good story, even if I don't have much to say about it...reading is enough, I suppose, but some people want more than that._**

**_The song "The Storm" was originally called "Losing My Fucking Mind" and it is a song that I wrote and that belongs solely to me; for this story, some of the words and descriptions have been modified, and thus it is not the true original work that I wrote one year ago. "Looking Back" is also one of my own composition, one that I wrote on the spot to fit the theme of the story. I hope that the lyrical flow combined with a gentle conversation-type mood helps to make a powerful image for you guys. I might not be a perfect writer, but I strive to be a very good one at the least. If it makes you guys cry or does something otherwise to your hearts (whether or not Lilly's speech does as well), I apologize, but at least it means you feel for the characters. As for "Can't Be Tamed," that one was indeed written and performed by Ms. Cyrus herself before she came of age two months ago. I've only modified the words just the tiniest bit, but it seemed to me to flow better the way I've "changed" it (one word fixes a lot...)._**

**_Yeah(): Ahaha...you're either the third or fourth person to tell me that. The offer still stands if anyone changes their minds, but I think I've made up mine as to how I'm going to make it work._**

**_BEFORE YOU READ: Understand that I am about two chapters ahead of schedule; I originally had a couple of other things I wanted to say, but there wasn't anything within those parts that I couldn't just say here, so I did. As for the actual performance, sorry for not releasing the full set-list...I couldn't totally envision all of the songs she'd do, and having Lilly duet with her most of the way through was a slight complication, although it aws definitely not an unwelcome one. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it._**

* * *

"Alright, everyone! Places! We need to do this run-through one last time before the day is over," Kitten called through a microphone from the stage. They had moved to the body of the arena, where they would be practicing just the way they would be performing in the stadium. Even in the underground, there was some speculation as to the quality of the sound-proofing, but Kitten had assured the engineers and sound technicians that by running the sound at about one-hundred decibels or lower it would be undetectable to everything five feet from the surface and up.

"Remember, you're performing _tomorrow_, and you're performing _live_. This has to be an exact science," he called, warning them gently of the near future. He hadn't slept a single wink all that month and didn't look the least bit fatigued, having not pushed himself as hard as he intended to during this final rehearsal and the next night at the concert. There was no room for error, no matter how many times he had screwed up in the past. Nobody could afford a mistake this close to the performance. They had to get it one-hundred percent right.

"Everyone ready?" a voice called through the head-pieces. Kitten tapped a small green button attached to the electronic pads that a small portion of his drumset consisted of after receiving thumbs-ups from everyone. It was going to be a big rehearsal, one that he would not mess up if he had anything to say about it.

"Alright, Fuzzyfoot, play the note."

Fuzzyfoot. Miley had given him the affectionate nickname two weeks earlier after she had given him the melody and lyrics to every song she planned on performing, in order. It was only a simple matter of using his mind to create the beats he would play. But, due to the spontaneity in his bass-pedal, he could change the beat at will just by changing the pulse of the kit. The nickname Fuzzyfoot had been lovingly bestowed upon him without complaint, and now it was his stage-name, the one that would be announced to the crowd when he was called out for the second-to-last song, Looking Back, the song where he would sing alongside Miley and Lilly, talking about the consequences of their actions, the fights that they'd had, and wonder if it truly was worth it. Then, Lilly was supposed to take the mic and make her announcement to Miley, in front of thousands of people, supporters and haters alike. She had guts, that much was known.

Kitten cracked his stick against the pad. A thousand voices immediately sounded throughout the stadium, blasting into the stadium seating and rebounding backward to give the performers feedback on their timing, tempo, and notes. The voices started out by talking, then went to shouting, then went to screaming violent swear-words at each other. Finally, it all became one continuous scream derived from a loud, breathy _fuck you _that Lilly had gladly recorded alongside Kitten; their combined scream had formed a violent uproar through the speakers and had nearly caused Miley to go deaf from the cacophonous concussion.

The scream turned into a roar that mimicked howling winds of a hurricane's wrath. I counted off: _"One, two, three, four!"_

Everything started there. Miley was not on the stage at that moment and Lilly was suspended from the lighting fixture, the solid arch structure strong against her weight; it was crafted from aluminum alloy metal by a special underground steel forging company that Kitten had managed to locate and bargain with. The bars were reinforced with double-hexagonal cross sections that would not bend under extreme weight or stress. They were built to last.

Lilly inhaled into the mic and began screaming her first line as Miley drifted forward, standing on a small four-wheeled cable-driven trolley that dragged her up to the microphone. The second line finished right as Miley got up to the stand and she began singing in a beautiful voice that melted the hearts of all the stage-hands as they frantically rushed around behind the scenes to prepare more costumes and adjust volume levels and rigging setups. Everyone felt their hearts cry out a little bit when the first note of the vocal harmony, so full of despair and helplessness, yet so pure and powerful, met their ears, and it was like auditory magic.

Magic herself was playing a quiet background melody while standing next to her friend Root. Root was a small girl of Asian heritage and was a master at playing a piano. It had been a simple matter for her to transfer to synthesizers and learn how to adjust the sounds to create whatever audio illusion she needed. The result was a perfectly subtle, but not overlooked, orchestral melody underneath the sharp, stabbing, wind-swept notes of the guitars. Just from the blood boiling in their veins, Miley and Lilly both knew that the concert would be amazing.

The Storm finally died down and Miley paused a moment, where she would ask the audience how they were feeling that evening. Then she was to ask if they wanted more. The dancers all took their places and the back-up vocals arranged themselves at their mic stands, one flexing her fingers, another snapping his. The next song on the list to be played was Can't Be Tamed, one that Miley had been frequently practicing and attempting to sing once again; she hadn't sung that particular song out loud in three years, but she had decided that it would be the perfect follow-up to The Storm's fierce intro with its pulsing beat and rebellious lyrics. As the song spooled up, Lilly was lowered from the arch, much to her great relief, since she was not partial to heights, and the blonde took the stage beside her friend, where they harmonized select lines of the verse and the chorus. The second verse was done entirely by Lilly with Miley harmonizing, all the way through the second chorus, where Miley once again took the lead vocals. Lilly looked so thrilled to be on-stage, as though it were something she had always wanted to do. Then again, it was only a trial run, and it would be nothing like the real thing; there would be thousands of screaming fans that night, and nobody to calm them. It was then that Kitten smiled, mostly to himself, as the magnitude of the concert really hit him. It was so utterly spectacular to him that he could have suggested such an outrageous upstanding against the government dictation. And he had achieved his goal of breaking every possible law that he could without resorting to violence.

The entire practice session cost nearly two hours of time, though he anticipated that it would take about a half-hour longer with the crowd trying to make requests and small breaks before the songs that tied into The Storm. He had requested that the songs Looking Back and True Friend, the last two songs on the list, would be held off for that day. He said that they had all done excellently and needed to rest their bodies all that day (since it was past four in the morning) while the stadium was prepared. He, however, had plans that he had to keep. He helped the engineering crew disassemble and cart all movable parts of the stage to the surface, where they rested in the garage. He had requested that a large truck arrive and take the pieces all to the stadium, where they could be reassembled during the day while the group slept and ate and relaxed. They would all move to the stadium at about four to sign autographs and hand out free demos of songs with the exception of The Storm and its three counter-parts. Everything had been prearranged and the vendors were being set-up even as it grew to be light in the sky. This was going to be huge. The best part was that it was a Sunday, and legally, work shifts ended at noon on Sundays. Everyone would be free to attend, and all the fliers and waivers had been accounted for. Just in pre-confirmation tickets and presale items they had guaranteed ten thousand people. The could legally house forty-six thousand in the stadium seats, but the manager had given special permission to sell double-priced 'floor' tickets, where the audience could stand right up against the stage, a mob of fans and supporters. All ten thousand floor tickets had been accounted for, meaning that there would be a full house that evening. It was to be a memorable night, he could feel it.

Kitten stood, watching the dismemberment of the stage that they had erected themselves, tested themselves, worked on so passionately by themselves for the past four months. They knew every piece and its exact location with their eyes closed, every tiny little screw's resting place, every little wire or hook or needle as it needed to be. Everything had been built to be easily broken down and rebuilt, and that was how it needed to be in order to be discreet. Nobody in power could know until that night. And only when they were completely helpless to do anything would the revolt strike.

Unfortunately, Kitten had forgotten about the long-since-given forewarning to his father, who knew exactly what was to take place through his other children.

_(time lapse; focus shift)_

"I can't _fucking _believe that boy. Standing up to _me!_ The monarch! What blasphemy is this?"

He pounded his desk, the afternoon light fading a bit. The man sighed tiredly. He had definitely seen better days.

"Fine. He wants to fight his old man? He'll get a fight, alright. I'll show him just who he's messing with."

The monarch slipped a shiny, unused revolver into his pocket. It had a single bullet in the chamber. He laughed evilly, the horrid noise echoing off the walls.

"Tonight's the night that we see who you really fight for, son. Can you really stand up to your old man in the face of imminent death?"

Cruel laughter echoed throughout the hallways. Every single person in the Shrine felt the hair stand up on the backs of their necks. The only time the monarch ever laughed that way was when he was going to kill someone, and most of the workers had a fairly good idea of who.

_(time lapse; focus shift)_

"Ready in five, sir."

The crew members were all rushing around frantically, urging Kitten onto the stage. He chuckled at their efforts.

"Guys, relax. We don't have to go on right when the time strikes. We're allowed to be a couple minutes late. It builds anticipation."

"Sir, we need you out there. The crowd is getting unruly."

They both stopped to listen. Amid the shouting behind the scenes, the crowd was indeed making a loud ruckus. The general consensus seemed to be a chanting of Miley's name over and over again.

_Mi-ley. Mi-ley. Mi-ley. Mi-ley._

Kitten laughed. "Alright, alright. I'll go assuage their demands."

He stepped up to the central entrance to the stage, flicking his wrists once, just to assure that they were ready. His eyes sparkled intensely behind the contact lenses; those only proceeded to make his irises appear to be white and insane. Every time he grinned or laughed, it was that of a madman. He could not stop moving. Some part of him was always shaking or twitching. He was definitely excited.

The first step he took onto the stage confused the audience. He strode slowly to the microphone stand, the crowd of forty thousand quieting a bit. After a moment of standing still, there was only a slight murmur running through the many faces that looked up at him so eagerly as he surveyed the crowd. He smiled, causing the closest of the floor group to take a couple steps back.

"So...you all came. I appreciate your support, all of you. Without you, none of this would have been possible."

The crowd was still silent. He cleared his throat.

"You didn't come here to listen to me talk. You came here for a different reason." He unhooked the mic from the stand. "Who here wants to listen to _Miley Stewart?_"

The crowd absolutely exploded, nearly blowing the man off the stage. He grinned maniacally and gave his thumbs-up in approval.

"Yes! And here's something for you all. I bet you didn't know, but Miley has come up with four new songs that she wants to share with you tonight. How does _that _sound?"

The cacophony that followed matched that of the first outburst. It was music to the man's ears. He replaced the mic in its clip.

"Then, I suggest, Miley fans and friends alike, that you put your hands together and hang on to your hats. We're about to enter..._The Storm,_" he finished with a possessed look upon his face. He then slowly stepped backwards and sat at the drumset, engaging the mic in his ear.

"...testing, testing, Fuzzyfoot, can you hear me, testing..."

"Gaff, I gotcha."

"Ah, finally. Right. We're waiting on you."

The crowd was looking around, nearly silent. "Alright, Gaff. On my strike."

"Roger that."

He paused a minute, making sure he was hovering over the correct pad, which had been linked into a special synthesizing unit that would play back the screeching wind that began with the biggest obscenity known to American minds. He raised his sticks up, clicked them together twice, just loud enough for the stage to hear, and then struck the pad.

The swell of the voices, the incredibly loud curse that laid out over the audience, all served to boost their morale and get them excited. They were all edgy and fidgeting in their places. It was sheer awesomeness to see such support from the general public. And none of them could even begin to comprehend the number of strings pulled, the number of rules shattered into millions of pieces. This was outright blasphemy, and yet it was such utter bliss.

A light beat-setting rhythm of clicks sounded in Kitten's ear. After four went by, he clacked the sticks together four more times in sync with the beat and set about creating the opening for The Storm. The wind howled behind the music, and as he glanced up at Lilly's figure, bound safely to the rigging, her eyeshadow and mascara stretched out backwards on her face toward her ears, her hair being blown in a simulated wind that came up through the bindings themselves. She looked stunning and surreal, but all of it was for show.

She inhaled quietly, but the mic just barely picked it up. It was the moment of truth. She opened her mouth, formed the words...

...and nothing came out.

Kitten had been watching her attentively, still keeping the beat, but he had been waiting for this fatal flaw in his plan. Lilly hadn't practiced screaming without a warm-up. She had slept off her throat and as such hadn't managed to recover it. He acted quickly to save her from embarrassment and began screaming into his own headset, which was thankfully routed to project over the crowd.

"_Hurricane whips chaos up," _he started. _"Torment all that it can grope!"_

Miley's trolley had gotten to the mic. _"The war takes place inside my mind-"_

"_The one last place that I held hope!"_

They then began a duet, having slightly modified the singing versus screaming portions of the song, and in perfect synchronization, lamented for the audience while Lilly silently shut her mic down, stretching her throat. She had grasped hold of a water and was proceeding to tease it in the back of the throat to help her with identifying where to direct the scream from.

"_The silence follows the eye of the storm, But raging fear circles endlessly! Indulgence is mine enemy, and drags me under the knife to bleed!"_

He heard Lilly's mic click back on in his right ear, followed by an "all clear" from the voice above. He gently tapped a small button attached to the hi-hat foot pedal.

"Bring Lilly back," he murmured. He tapped the button again, returning his mic link to the audience. Miley had taken the lyrics almost through the bridge.

"_...to let myself go out, I refuse intention to commit sin."_

Lilly had neglected to scream at that point, but it had sounded good nonetheless. The instruments regrouped and he waited to see if it would work.

"_Eye of the storm, so quiet, so calm!" _she ripped. He gave her a mental high-five.

"_Before long the silence is cut again," _Miley jumped in. They linked together in unison.

"_Destructive being destroys the world, and flings all beings into peril!"_

Miley lowered her mic and stepped back, waiting. Finally, Lilly's cue came, and she lacerated the mic with her voice.

"_Whip this circle 'round one last time! Kill your people under your rule! Flip this scale toward your favor! Fuck all else that stands in your way!"_

She had screeched while dropping the curse word upon the audience, though it produced the desired effect; everyone was engaged in the music and either jumping to the beat, clapping enthusiastically, or cheering for the performers. Miley regained her place, teaming up with Lilly as they'd planned.

"_Of bloodlust! Of terror! Of wind and fury and all that is! Of worship! Of courtesy! Of mind and soul and spirit and body!"_

A single breath.

"_In essence of the privilege revoked, And all the partitions you have invoked: The wind will terrorize all that it can reach; The rain will soak my soul and breach: My body, my soul, the things holding me together... May the wind drag me into oblivion, And may I forever be known as the Eye Of The Storm!"_

The roar that followed from the crowd nearly drowned out that of the synthesizer as Root's fingers danced over the keys and struck the thunder-pad. Everything sounded utterly amazing, and the audience was lapping it up like greedy dogs tearing at raw meat.

"_Fight or flight, the terror and pain; Deceptive light shows not that is! What cannot be becomes the truth, And I am damned to split the cist! I cannot counter the force at work; All has been revoked, all denied to me! I feel so trapped, so helpless here; Help me, goddamnit, set us all free!"_

Another small pause, which would have been light if the wind weren't still howling through the speakers. Lilly could feel her throat burning; she was risking a lot by cutting corners. She had learned how to scream properly, but she hadn't practiced enough to draw it all out. She swallowed dryly and pressed on, trying to find the proper range.

"_Whip this circle 'round one last time! Kill your people under your rule! Flip this scale toward your favor! Fuck all else that stands in your way!"_

She stopped and flipped her radio to Kitten's wavelength. "Fuzzy, I'm getting hoarse. I don't think I can finish screaming this song and sing for the rest of the concert."

He tapped the link button by the floor. "I can take it from here. Just don't break yourself down so early. When we go out for break at the half-way point, I'll warm you back up into the screaming point."

He re-engaged his mic with the song and filled for Lilly while she calmed her burning throat. She knew she had pushed it a bit too far, but she knew that Kitten could save her if needed; he had a strangely amazing voice and could reach high pitches when required.

"_Of bloodlust! Of terror! Of wind and fury and all that is! Of worship! Of courtesy! Of mind and soul and spirit and body!"_

Another single breath.

"_In essence of the privilege revoked, And all the partitions you have invoked: The wind will terrorize all that it can reach; The rain will soak my soul and breach: My body, my soul, the things holding me together... May the wind drag me into oblivion, And may I forever be known as the Eye Of The Storm!"_

There was a pause for one measure, in which four bass drum beats and cymbal crashes sounded in the silence, signaling the beginning of the guitar solo. The guitarist they'd agreed on was a teenager, about sixteen years old, who had dropped out of high school just to become a musician. Kitten had expressed his disapproval at such behavior, but demanded him for the guitarist after watching the blue-haired boy sing through his instrument. He said nothing, just played his heart out, never missing a single strum or note. It was beauty and passion, fiery and god-like, and it stirred the hearts of all the members of the audience into awe and inspiration. They suddenly wanted to jump up on the stage with the performers and rock their hearts out with the rest of them.

The solo twirled downward, his fingers flying over the frets and strings, making beautifully complex musical outbursts that finally tapered back down into the song, at which point the audience went nuts with cheering and whistling.

"_Whip this circle 'round one last time! Kill your people under your rule! Flip this scale toward your favor! Fuck all else that stands in your way!"_

Kitten had not hesitated, having warmed his throat up fairly well by the time his lines came. He glanced up to see Lilly looking as though she were screaming her heart out, despite the slight change in depth of voice. He tried to keep himself calm and not look as though he were the screaming culprit.

All at once the music stopped, stock-still. Miley leaned forward over the mic, and amidst a very quiet, very slow piano interlude, sang in a voice akin to that of an angelic choir.

"_Of forgiveness... Of innocence... Of calm and quiet and perfect thoughts, Of courage... Of sanctuary... Of mind and soul and spirit and body-"_

She suddenly cut out, the music spurring back up at the howl of the wind.

"_In essence of the privilege revoked, And all the partitions you have invoked: The wind will terrorize all that it can reach; The rain will soak my soul and breach: My body, my soul, the things holding me together... May the wind drag me into oblivion, And may I forever be known as the Eye Of The Storm!"_

The last note was held for two measures, after which Kitten screamed for Lilly, his mic dimmed slightly by the sound board.

"_I am the fucking Eye Of The Storm!"_

All went silent on the stage. Miley had her fist in the air, the mic clenched in her other hand and held up near her lips. She was smiling determinedly at the audience, who screamed so loudly Kitten believed it could have easily been mistaken for a wind-tunnel, such was the noise. Miley called out a light "woo!" to the audience and they cheered even more.

"Hey guys, how are y'all doin' tonight?"

They screamed back their approval and energy. She nodded, cheering with the rest of them.

"Are you guys feeling good?"

They all shouted back at her.

"I can't hear you, Los Angeles. I said, _Are you feeling good?_"

The amount of noise that hit the stage, including the crew behind it, nearly blew them all out of the stadium. Miley only looked more energized, hearing Lilly's voice in her headset, telling her that she was just about ready to go. She wouldn't start until Lilly was up with her, front and center.

"I'm glad to see that everyone's enjoying themselves! We've got quite the concert for you tonight! And joining me now is my best friend, Lilly Truscott!"

The crowd applauded and cheered for the blonde as she made her way to the front. She grinned out at the audience, lifting the mic to her lips.

"Was the screaming too much?"

The crowd laughed along with her. Even Miley was chuckling lightly.

"Alright, Miley. What song are we doing?"

Everything had been staged before-hand. They would appear to be having idle conversation while everyone re-checked or changed instruments or lighting schemes. Even the fire would be going; four huge boxes sat at the back of the stage, ready to belch out flames and fireworks when the moment arose. This was intended to be an amazing show for the crowd, one that would convince them that their purpose was solid.

"Well, Lilly, let me ask you a few things. Do you think we're under too much inspection?"

"Uh, yeah! The popo is _always _breathing down my back!"

The audience nodded and murmured in agreement.

"Something's gotta change, right?"

"Hell yeah it does!"

"Well, guess what, Lilly. I've got a song for that."

"And what song would that be?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"Well..." she let the letter drag out, waiting, tapping her heel to the beat. Kitten counted, reached an agreement, and tittered on the hi-hat to the beat of her heel. Everything immediately started once he set the beat and the two girls at the front of the stage began doing a techno-funk dance that looked like a mix between a broken robot and an army soldier.

"_For those who don't know me, I can get a bit crazy; Have to get my way, yep, Twenty-four hours a day, Cuz I'm hot like that. Every guy, everywhere, just gives me mad attention, Like I'm under inspection, Always get a ten cuz I'm built like that."_

Lilly had perfectly highlighted Miley's vocals, and began doing a beautiful background harmony to fill the gaps.

"_I go through guys like money flying out the hands, They try to change me but they realize they can't, And every tomorrow is a day I never planned; If you're gonna be my man, understand... I can't be tamed! I can't be tamed! I can't be blamed! I can't, can't, I just can't be tamed! I can't be changed! I can't be tamed! I can't be, be, I can't be tamed!"_

"_If there is a question about my intentions, I'll tell ya; I'm not here to sell ya, Or tell you to go to hell, I'm not a brat like that! I'm like a puzzle, but all of my pieces are jagged; If you can understand this, We can make some magic, I'm on like that..."_

Lilly had taken over the lyrics, just as planned. She sounded absolutely stunning, and Miley was the absolute perfect accent to her vocal patterns. It was almost as though it were meant to be sung that way.

"_I wanna fly, I wanna drive, I wanna go...I wanna be a part of something I don't know. And if you try to hold me back I might explode; Baby by now you should know, I can't be tamed! I can't be tamed! I can't be blamed! I can't, can't, I just can't be tamed! I can't be changed! I can't be tamed! I can't be, be, I can't be tamed!"_

Miley took back over the lead.

"_Oh, I'm not a trick that you play; I'm wired a different way. I'm not a mistake, I'm not a fake, It's set in my D-N-A. Don't cha-a-ange me...Don't cha-a-ange me...Don't cha-a-ange me...Don't cha-a-ange me, I can't be-_

"_I wanna fly, I wanna drive, I wanna go...I wanna be a part of something I don't know. And if you try to hold me back I might explode; Baby by now you should know, I can't be tamed! I can't be tamed! I can't be blamed! I can't, can't, I just can't be tamed! I can't be changed! I can't be tamed! I can't be, be, I can't be tamed!"_

The final bridge and chorus had been a perfect duet between the singers, and they'd worked very hard to get their voices to coincide almost perfectly. Everything was just as planned and the audience exploded at the synchronization of the two talented individuals on the mics at the front of the stage. Kitten changed channels.

"Be ready with the next one, Root. You're starting."

Kitten grinned inwardly. It was definitely going to be a fun night, and he was ready to go for it.

_(time lapse)_

"Alright, guys. We've been here, what, two hours? I figured that before we go into our second-to-last song, you guys might want to know who everyone is."

Kitten had taken the stage and was on his headset, the drumsticks still in his front pocket from the end of the last song they had played, 7 Things. Miley had literally gone nuts and began pitching her hair around in beat to the music during the chorus lines; she had been moved backstage for a drink of water, a moment to relax, and a hair adjustment.

The sweat shone on Kitten's upper lip and forehead, a light sheen of moisture as he had played his heart out on the drums. Sitting near a pyrotechnic container hadn't made the job any easier on him, but it was a struggle that he just had to move along with.

"So, first, I'd like to call up your lead guitarist, Blue!"

The boy strode up to the audience, shredding against his guitar once again. It was the fourth time that evening that he was doing so, as they'd broken up for a guitar solo during intermission and then requested another solo for Winds Of Change. The audience was glowing from the nightmare of it all, and they only cheered harder for the boy as he stood out front, playing his heart out. He finally plucked the last note and the crowd went wild. Several people in the audience screamed "Marry me, Blue" to the young guitarist, but he merely smiled and waved at the crowd in response.

"Next up is your rhythm guitarist, Finger!"

The boy was nineteen and was missing his middle finger. He was not downed by the loss at all; there had been a carcinogen located in his fingernail that was creeping up his finger. The doctors had isolated the finger and amputated it to save his life; he was guaranteed by medical research advancements and diagnostic testing to never encounter that particular strain of cancer ever again. He stepped forward to the audience and wiggled his fingers tauntingly; several of them laughed, still others screamed in fear or disgust. The overall mood was one of gentle appreciation.

"Bassist Butters!"

His brother strode up, slapping and plucking at the bass guitar with well-experienced hands. He formed a slick jazzy riff to engage the audience, then proceeded to play something that sounded like it came from space. The audience laughed when he began pounding on the strings with his fists, cheering for more. He smiled and nodded, backing up.

"Now for your violinist, Magic!"

The crowd was deafening. She had chosen to wear a short-sleeved button-up collared white blouse underneath a black satin vest, the perfect match to her black skinny jeans and her sparkling tennis shoes. She had performed a duet along with Blue during the intermission and sounded unlike anything anyone had ever heard before, even referencing The Devil Went Down To Georgia by Charlie Daniels, to which Blue had gladly joined in for a heavy mix of entertainment and sweet solos.

"The synth queen, Root!"

She stepped forward, curtseying respectfully. The crowd was very enthusiastic toward her as well and seemed very eager to watch her play something. However, she politely declined and returned to drinking her water bottle.

"And of course, you know the singers Miley and Lilly-"

The feedback was deafening. Had Kitten not been wearing earplugs, he would have been minus his hearing after the first three seconds of outburst. As it was, he imagined that most of the audience was already running out of hearing ability for the night and following week.

"And I think that takes care of everyone," he finished lamely, grinning. Lilly tapped him on the shoulder, her own head-set on.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You didn't give yourself any credit."

"I don't nee-"

"Everyone, put your hands together for our director, sponsor, coordinator, and drummer, Fuzzyfoot!"

Some people laughed at the name, others clapped cheerily, not really knowing who he was.

"Lilly, you don't ha-"

"This man right here," she said, poking him sharply in the chest, "is the sole reason why we can be here with you today. He's the one that came up with this crazy idea to defy the government's curfew and entertainment laws. He's the guy that paid his own money, millions of dollars of it, to pull off what you've seen tonight. He's the one that we all owe thanks to for all that has happened here tonight."

The wall of sound that struck them was easily double, possibly triple the strength of that which had hit the girls. Everyone was screaming in appreciation and shock at his accomplishment. He grinned sheepishly at the crowd, wanting to disappear into silence.

"No, really, it's nothing-"

"As a special tribute for you guys, and a break for the band for a few moments, Miley has decided to deliver a new song to you guys before we perform our closing song. Only, this song is a little different. She wants three voices to sing. One is herself. One will be me. And she'd like to ask if Fuzzy here will be the third voice."

The crowd waited on tenterhooks.

"What do you say, Fuzzy?"

He blinked twice. "Well, how can I say no to a request like that?"

Everyone was instantly excited and ready to see the performance. The band members all departed off the stage to relax for the duration of the song, after which they would return to play the closing song. It was only going to be three voices and a melodic background track, and even as the track began to play and the girls took their seats, Kitten standing between them as they looked at each other with compassion and delight. They were ready, long before the first note came, and Miley hit her cue perfectly, singing lightly and with a lilting, heart-felt melody to amplify the background track.

"_Look at all the fights we've won, Look at all the things we've done, Can you see the freedom we have achieved here just today? Look around you at the sunshine, Just take a look and feel the fine line, The line we crossed to take back our old days, yea-e-ah..."_

Lilly came in, her voice steady and strong and beautiful.

"_Look at all the chaos waking, Look at what we had for taking, Why ever did we step out of our comfort zone to break his hold? Is it really worth the fights we've pulled through? And with the smoke it's so hard to see you, I'm reaching out to touch you one last time, to ask you why-y-y..."_

Kitten had waited, anticipating the gap, which he filled immediately.

"_It's no longer just a question, Of what's right or wrong... We have to consider the things, the things we fought for so long. It's a shame we broke this place, Why ever did we fall from grace, Do we deserve this torture, this incoherent melody of our wrongs?"_

Two measures passed, this time with Lilly leading the way.

"_I never should have started this fight, I never should have let him take your life... I'm not a murderer, no, no. How could I have caused so much pain? Can I really ever live again? Is there hope for a new tomorrow, one without sorrow?"_

"_Everything we wanted, here and now, It's all so close, and I'm so proud, I call myself American because I fight for what I believe in. I've been told what's right is wrong, I thought I lost it, all gone, But remembering this fight, the fight for my life, I stayed alive."_

"_Despair and harmony, Such perfect duality, The fighting came about and departed, leaving us broken-hearted."_

They all joined in together as one.

"_I will join hands, With my brothers and sisters of arms, I will take a stand, To show the world the future's dawn. Everything will change tomorrow, No more people feeling pain and sorrow, I will stand right by your side... And fight for what is right."_

Miley gently echoed the last line after a half-measure had passed. She then lead the third verse.

"_I feel like everything's coming together, I feel like we can once again love each other, I want to scream and pledge allegiance To the nation I stood my ground against. We've all laughed and we've all cried together, We've all fought for a brighter tomorrow, Now it's up to us to take And rebuild this land, it's ours, let's save it!"_

"_I gave up everything I wanted, All my hopes and dreams constantly daunted, It all just seemed to pointless To fight a power bigger than me. I can't help but wonder if I'm stupid, I believe I've now done something foolish, I rebelled against the greatest man to walk the planet."_

Once again, they all teamed up.

"_I will join hands, With my brothers and sisters of arms, I will take a stand, To show the world the future's dawn. Everything will change tomorrow, No more people feeling pain and sorrow, I will stand right by your side... And fight for what is right."_

This time, Lilly echoed the last line. Kitten inhaled.

"_I can see both sides to every story, I can see the paths of darkness and glory. The man we worship has made his choices, And now our people have lost their voices. He departed down the fork of darkness, The scars upon my back have left me speechless, I can no longer see the man in charge, My father, the way he was before at large!"_

A melodic piano fill coursed slowly through the speakers. Everyone in the audience was either holding up a cell-phone and waving it back and forth to the beat or had tears shining in their eyes from the truth of the words they all spoke. It was like a powerful oath was being shared with the crowd, one that was officially inducting them into the cult, and they were completely hypnotized by the words.

"_I will join hands, With my brothers and sisters of arms, I will take a stand, To show the world the future's dawn. Everything will change tomorrow, No more people feeling pain and sorrow, I will stand right by your side... And fight for what is right."_

The audio dropped to silence. There was a pause, then Kitten stepped forward. "One of the reasons I did this is because of my cult. We all believe that this world has fallen to pieces and has seen dark days this past year and a half. I for one can't stand it. Neither can these two girls who sit up here with me. I formed this cult because we all believe that the monarchy needs to be overrun. We believe in non-violence. We believe in everything he abhors. We will fight against him without raising a weapon, not until he shoots the first bullet. I will stand by my beliefs no matter what the cost. This whole show has been an act of outright defiance against him. I don't know what all of you out there are feeling, but I personally have had enough of the government bullshit. I didn't come here to preach a sermon, though. I came to state my purpose and explain it to others. We all have our own voices. We all should be heard. No man should be put to death for his opinion. Nobody should be criticized for how they live. Nothing should ever have to be invasive to personal rights of life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness."

The crowd clapped politely. He turned on his heel and walked off-stage. He had called in a replacement drummer to play the closing song, True Friend, but he had told everyone to wait off-stage for a moment while Lilly made her announcement. She waited.

"With that, my friends, we have one more song for you. Our closing song. One of togetherness and friendship. One-"

"Miley..."

The brunette turned from her position at the head of the stage. Lilly stood at the end of the peninsula that protruded into the audience, looking at Miley standing at the edge. It was totally unexpected and neither had a response.

"L-Lilly...?"

"Miley, before we start this song, I...I have something to say."

She stepped gently around her friend, checking her pocket inconspicuously. "Miley and I have been friends for about ten years now. We've seen good days, we've seen bad days. We've been there for each other through it all. That's why she suggested True Friend as our closing song. But...there's something more.

"Miley has been like the sister I never had. I never had a sister, only an older brother who is in his thirties right now, probably working a job, busy doing corporate brown-nosing and kissing up to the bigwigs who sign his paycheck each month. He and I weren't exactly on the friendliest of terms, but Miley...I could tell her everything. She helped me get through the death of our friend Oliver. He...He's been gone for a year now, but the wound is still there, and we've helped each other to nurse it back to health. It still hurts, and it's a scar that reminds us every day of what we lost, but it's what keeps us going. We know that Ollie-pop would have wanted us to follow this cult because he was with this cult, a government agent that was in cahoots with us. He was our inside ear, and he was caught and executed."

Tears were in her eyes and she struggled to hold them back. Most of the crowd was crying, either having started from her words or having already been crying from the song.

"I...I didn't come here to talk about Oliver's death. I came here, up front, before we do this song, because I wanted to thank Miley for the one thing she gave me this whole time. She...she's shown me love in all of this, a-and I can't thank her enough for being there for me, so...I decided that I-I need to show her...in front of everyone...because it's w-what I believe in."

The blonde turned. Miley stood a couple steps from her, the perfect distance to implement the moment of truth. She knelt before the brunette, who was startled. Lilly tucked her right hand into her pocket and withdrew it, concealing the box.

"Miley, I never thought we would ever live to see a day like today, and I never thought that we'd be such good friends for such a long time. A-and a little while back, when Fuzzy said no to you for a relationship...he did it because of me. Because I asked him not to say yes."

She gasped. "You...you did that?"

"Miley, wait," she begged, still on one knee. The brunette hesitated, wondering what she could possibly say to make it better; tears were already running down her face in hurt and embarrassment.

"Miley, I had to tell him. I had to have him say no. I...I was jealous, Miley. I couldn't let him take you from me. And I know that sounds selfish and mean, b-but it's because I...I love you, Miley."

She held up her right hand and used her left to crack the box open. The spotlight overhead caught the diamond ring inside, a seven-carat heart-shaped diamond with a star-shaped array of smaller diamonds, set into a band made of ten-carat white gold with the words _I will always love you, Miley _scribed onto the inside of the band. Lilly held up the box and looked to her friend, who was speechless.

"M-Miley...I know this may be a shock to you...b-but I've been waiting to ask you this since we were eighteen. I just d-didn't know how. He helped me s-see that I just had to do it, a-and tonight seemed like the perfect night. I can't say it any simpler, Miley. I love you. And...I want to spend my life with you."

The crowd let out a collective "aww" at the sweetness and sincerity of her voice, even over the speakers. Lilly's body was shaking from excitement, fear, sadness, joy, and hope. Miley stood, stock-still, looking like a soldier, eyes the size of saucers, as she gazed at the ring and her friend's head overtop the box.

"Lilly...I don't know what to say," she choked.

"You don't have to say more than one word. Will you marry me?"

There. The question had been asked. Immediately, Lilly regretted it. What if she said no?

"I...I..."

Everyone waited. Miley felt extremely uncomfortable and embarrassed.

"Lilly, this is...I don't..." she couldn't form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. Her mouth was dry, her palms sweaty, her skin clammy. She had no idea how to answer such a question.

"I...this...it's so sudden," she finally managed to say. Her eyes were still glued to the ten-thousand-plus dollar ring in the box and the hopeful expression on the blonde's face as she looked over the opened lid of the box.

"You don't have to say yes, Miley. You don't even have to answer right now if you don't want."

The brunette nodded. "I...can I have some time...to think?"

Lilly nodded and shut the box, her heart cracking a bit. She was still hopeful, but it was disheartening to think that there was the possibility of rejection. After loving her for so long and waiting for the right moment for so many years, she didn't know if she could handle the love of her life breaking her heart. Then again...it was Miley's choice to make.

"R-right...should we cue the music?"

Miley had spoken. Lilly closed the box in front of a silent crowd, stowing it gently in her pocket. She was trying very hard not to cry. Miley was completely dumbfounded by how events had turned out and didn't know what to do. They still had one song left in the concert, but neither of them knew if they could perform now.

"Lilly...should we still do this?"

The blonde swallowed, trying to recollect herself and keep her tears, her pain and cracked heart inside her. She nodded, keeping her eyes away from Miley's. The brunette was looking for proof that her friend was indeed in love with her, as if she needed more, but there was nothing left for Lilly to give.

"R-right...cue the music."

They both stumbled back to their stools. However, the music never got the ability to start playing, even as Kitten watched from backstage. Something was wrong, and his acute sense of hearing told him so. The gentle slicing noise was enough to warn him of the problem at hand.

He ran out onto the stage and up to the girls, his headset gone. He leaned into their ears. "Girls, we've gotta get out of here."

"What? Why?"

Lilly was instantly alert. The panicked tone in his voice was enough to give her agonizing fear over what could possibly be going wrong.

"We've gotta GO. NOW."

Neither of them asked questions, but even so, they were too late. Gas suddenly erupted in the audience, and even as they tried to run, the bright spotlight, ten million candle-power of bright light, struck them all square in the face, and they stopped to block the light. The swishing, chopping noise and whining engine gave away the helicopter's presence, and judging by the twin rotors in the tail-fin, it was a military Apache model.

"RUN!" he cried. The call picked up on the girls' headsets and the entire audience broke into pandemonium. Even as everyone in the audience tried to make a break for it, a dart flew from the helicopter and struck Lilly in the left shoulder. She fell to her knees and landed, face-down on the stage, unconscious, the serum having put her into a deep sleep. Kitten scooped her up and called for Miley again, running toward the back, but the dart had already caught her in the right thigh, and she too went down, screaming his name before she faded into blackness. He set Lilly down beside Blue, who then scooped the blonde up and took off toward the parking lot to get in his vehicle and head straight for the cult's safehouse. Kitten ran back out only to see that a masked FBI agent was scooping Miley's body up and proceeding to be lifted up into the air via a ladder attached to the interior of the helicopter. He cried out in despair and launched himself at the figure, colliding with his midriff, but it was too late; the agent had already drawn a taser gun from his belt with his other hand, looping it around the ladder, and the gun had caught Kitten square in the hip. He fell and landed on the same side, exactly on the impact point, and a blinding numbness overtook his body where there should have been pain. He felt nothing but humming and buzzing and millions of bee-stings puncturing his muscles from within as his body fell into an endless abyssal torture of nothing but darkness and despair.

_(time lapse; focus shift)_

"Sir, we've got the girl, I repeat, we've got the girl."

The copilot gave a shout of joy. "Well, I'll be damned! If that doesn't drag that good-for-nothing cult leader back to make a deal, I don't know what will."

"Sir, what are we to do with her?"

"She is to be held captive for ransom against the leader, but she will also be tortured for information. We don't want her dead; then the leader will have justification for never contacting us again and we run the risk of another revolt. No, we keep her alive, even if just barely, and we weasel everything we can out of her. She has to understand that this isn't a game, and hopefully she will tell her leader that he, too, needs to learn the error of his ways. For now...just make sure she doesn't leave the craft."

Miley's limp body was tossed unceremoniously onto the cargo bay's deck, where another special agent strapped her into the extra harness they'd left empty specifically for her body, ransom money. There was no mistake; this was the real Miley Stewart, the had-been teen pop sensation, the one who had joined forces with the leader after he'd brainwashed her. The monarch was chuckling evilly. Everything had gone exactly according to plan, and even though the leader had warned him of an uprising, he hadn't stated how easily he'd be brought to his knees, just at the will of saving some innocent girl he'd had a crush on since his childhood.

"Marlough, get me Kenton." He waited. "Kenton? This is your monarch speaking. I have a special assignment for you...one that I think you'll enjoy very much."

The voice on the other end asked a question. The monarch laughed dangerously.

"Oh yes, Kenton. We've got her, alright, and she's all yours to interrogate. Be sure to give her the extra-special treatment when we get there, won't you be so kind?"

The voice on the other end laughed and said something wickedly. The monarch grinned.

"Oh, trust me. I'm sure you'll like this one. She's only a little older than twenty, and she's a softie."

The voice asked a question.

"I want you to break her, leave her begging for salvation, leave her begging for her leader to save her, begging for death. She's all yours, Kenton. Do with her as you will."

* * *

**_I wonder what everyone thought of the proposal, then the kidnapping. Wasn't it just yummy? In case you're wondering, I planned for all of this to happen just like I wrote it. Well, other than Kitten getting stunned, but I was still wrestling with whether it should be him to give chase, or Lilly; I had an epic scene in my head where she'd be screaming the girl's name and the chapter just ends there. Sorta like a movie. MAJOR cliffhanger, that would have been. _**

**_I couldn't just give off a cliffhanger. You guys would hate me. So, I decided to make it at least a little more...rounded off, I guess? Whatever you want to call it for my lack of better word, please read and review. I appreciate everything you guys have to say, and I look forward to seeing what your ideas are._**

**_Oh, and my question still stands: Do I kill Miley, America's songbird, Lilly, the tough, abrasive 'girlfriend' (since they aren't technically in a relationship), or Kitten, the vigilant leader with endless energy and a predetermined physical complication? I'd love to hear your thoughts on this. :)_**


	6. Trial Of Tears

**_A/N: It's been, what, three days since I updated? I try to update every other day, but this was a tough chapter to get through, and I've had a long past few days. I'm hoping you guys like this chapter, even if it is just a filler. I had to progress the story forward. I don't think this story will get past chapter 10...It's tough coming up with things to say, and at 10,000 words per chapter, it's anything but easy to think of words to say and expressions to put. The next story I do, the sequel to this one, will be longer, but the chapters will only be 5,000 words or so. It'll be much easier for me to slow the pace down. Oh, and I'm closing off the requests for who to kill; I already have a story-line in mind (after thinking everything through and listening to everyone's suggestions) and I think you'll all be intrigued as to how it plays out. :)_**

**_Mmm(): Any reason why I should kill Kitten?_**

**_desertstormx: Miley's conditions only get worse in this chapter. Sorry to say so, but it's true. Kitten reflects on his condition a little bit in this chapter. As I announced earlier, I have a plan. A devious plan. One that will probably make a lot of people angry. As for Liley...I don't think I can see them getting terribly intimate in this story, but it's rated M more for language anyways. It'll be interesting for you guys, since Lilly loves Miley and Miley loves Kitten, who happens to be torn between the two as to who to listen to. Oh, if only Oliver could help them out, eh? Oh wait, he's dead. :(_**

**_Sorry for the wait, but here's the next chapter! :)_**

* * *

"_You let her get away!_" _Slap!_

Kitten stood his ground tiredly, standing once again on the table in the board room amid the now-destroyed chairs, the only one still standing being his own, though the majority of the present destruction was Lilly's own doing after Kitten's initial violent reaction. She had proceeded to break everything that had already been suffering, leaving only Kitten, the table, and his chair remaining; the food had long since been cleaned up. She now stood on the table, fuming, angry tears in her eyes, her voice agonizingly pained like that of a thousand damned souls begging for salvation. The wrong fate had been handed out, and it had been given to them, the two who stood facing each other on the table, the ones who had lost so much just in one fell swoop from the big man himself.

"Lilly, I tried. Believe me, I tried," he pleaded. He himself was unsteady, and not only did it make Lilly just the most miniscule bit glad that he was on the same page with her, it angered her that he wasn't being strong, and it broke her heart into even smaller pieces to know that he had tried and failed to reclaim that which she loved.

"You _didn't! You didn't fucking try! _You...you let her go, damnit! _You let her go! You let those fiends take the love of my life away from me!_"

She slapped him again with hatred and vengeance. She was so unbelievably angry and crushed that she had absolutely no control over her emotions. She moved to lash out with her fist, to break him, to crush him, to make him feel her agony, and he blocked every swing that she threw at him, even as she screamed and grew more livid and began hitting harder, harder, harder until she lost her balance and her knees buckled. He caught her swiftly and embraced her tightly as she hung, a limp ragdoll in his arms, sobbing into his chest. She let herself be held and he tried to get her to stand, but it was no use; she was just as limp as she had been eight hours before when she had been tranquilized.

"Lilly...I tried. I had to get you to safety too, and you were closer. I took you backstage, then ran out for her to see them carrying her off. Lilly, I tried so hard that I jumped at him like an animal."

"Th-then why didn't you g-get her b-b-back?" she sniffed hopelessly.

"Because he had a stun baton. I tried so hard, Lilly."

She cried into him and he leaned down, his mouth right next to her ear, forcing his voice past the knot in his throat that threatened to strangle him.

"_I tried so hard, and got so far, In the end, it doesn't even matter; I had to fall to lose it all, And in the end, it doesn't even matter..."_

She cried harder. He stroked her hair; she had finally regained control of her knees. There was absolutely nothing he could do for her but hold her.

"Why, Kitten? Why...why would they take her?"

It took several seconds before he processed the question, and several more before he could formulate an answer. "Because...he knew."

"Who?"

"The monarch."

"What would he know?"

"He...he knew...knew about the revolt, knew about my plan...he knew everything. He even knew about her."

"But _how?_"

"Lilly...I...I don't know if I can say..."

"You owe it to me," she said quietly, still crying into his chest. He sighed.

"He knew...because I told him."

She forced herself out of his arms, pushing him back a step. She stood, two feet away from him, arms tight, fists clenched.

"What do you mean, you told him?"

"Lilly...I can no longer hide the truth. Miley will know when she wakes up in the Shrine, and I owe you the respect of having trusted me for all these years. I...Lilly, it's hard for me to say the truth, but you're right...I owe it to you. Lilly...the monarch is my father."

She stood, her face draining of color before his eyes. She was white as a sheet and her eyes seemed to bulge out of her face in disbelief. "A-are you kidding me?"

"He's my father. He and my mother separated when I was twelve, and he had total custody of us. He went nuts and began planning to overthrow the government, and when he succeeded two years ago...I had to come to grips with the painful truth that I would no longer be the same man I once was. I was forever doomed to be his son, the son of the Angel of Death.

"I hated him, Lilly. He did everything that I abhorred, save bringing this country to its former glory, but even that has now been tarnished and blackened by the pain and suffering. And when I was seventeen, and for every year after that, I've been planning this revolution, this nonviolent protest against government regulation, to tell my father to shove his jurisdiction up his ass and kiss mine. I told him that there would be an uprising. I told him that I would be leading it. I never told him about Miley, I swear to God I never said a word about either of you, or any of the rest of the cult, so unless my brother or sister let something slip, which was nigh on impossible, he had to have gotten the information through snooping and intrusive behavior, meaning he searched my room at some point or another. Lilly...I never thought he would go so far as to steal from me one of the four things that I would die for. I know what he wants from her and what he wants from me, but...I can't give in."

"So...you're his kid? You've been _lying _to us all because you're hiding your identity! And now...now you're going to let him take Miley away from us! You...I _hate _you!"

"Lilly, I didn't say he won!"

She had bolted for the door, angered and absolutely destroyed. The anguish in her eyes was enough to crush the remaining pieces of his broken heart.

"Then, what, Kitten? What is it that you could possibly say that would change the outcome of this?"

"I hate him, and I will fight to get her back, Lilly. I swear that to you, on pain of death, I will get her back."

"On pain of death? Are you planning on dying on me now?"

"I'm only going to live until August at the latest."

She let her jaw fall open. "You're totally un-_fucking_-believable, do you know that? How much bullshit are you planning on feeding me?"

"Lilly, my father experimented on me when I started rebelling against him and shutting him out. He wanted to inject me with a serum that would render me incapable of controlling my own body. He would have me at his beck and call, and he would be able to keep me from rising up against him. Then the injection went wrong and it fused with my immune system. Now...every time I sleep, once every few months, I lose about five to six years off my life."

He was shaking, unable to keep himself steady. "Lilly...the only thing I want to do before I die is to see her truly happy. She can't have that with me. She has to be with you. Only you know her, and only you can show her happiness."

"You're giving her up for me again! Why won't you fight for her? _How can you say that you're in love with her when you refuse to stand up for her?_"

"Because I love her too much. I would rather die and know she was at her happiest with her ideal spouse than live and hold her in my arms, never truly able to be happy. Only you can give her that happiness. Because no matter what I could try to do, she would find out too late that I will die by the end of the summer."

"How can you talk like that? If this is your death, and she is your love, how can you be so calm about it?"

"Because I accepted my fate a long time ago. Lilly, _I am going to die before I live to see twenty-five. _That's why I'm pushing for you two to be together. She'll have you forever and ever, where I'll die and then she'll go suicidal and die just to be with me."

"Do you honestly think she's that shallow?"

"Do you see what we've already been through?"

He ducked as a chunk of wood flew at the space where his head had been. "You're..._I HATE YOU!_"

She slammed her fist into the button in the elevator and it drifted upward. She was beyond tears. She was completely hollow and felt like she'd crumple if she didn't keep moving. She _had _to get to Miley. She _had _to save her love.

A groan penetrated the air as the room's only inhabitant woke up to a splitting headache and dizzy eyesight. She tried to push herself up, but found her hands cuffed behind her back, her legs bound at the ankles and knees. She looked around blearily, recognizing nothing in the room. It looked dark and stained, as though it had been drenched in blood or tar, the dark marks on the walls between the sheet-metal-covered windows creating two emotions to the girl: fear, and death. And as she rolled over and sat up, slightly out of the center of the room, she could see nothing around her but a single chair in the center of the room. She gulped, her stomach flipping anxiously, as her large, frightened eyes took in the surroundings.

It was a torture chamber, and the air reeked of blood.

She inched her way over to the closest wall and pressed her left shoulder against it, pushing against the ground with her feet. She grunted and inched her body up the wall until she formed a forty-five-degree angle between the wall and the floor. She huffed and dug her shoulder into the wall, the sudden pressure lifting her body off the wall and to her feet. The rope bit painfully into her ankles and her knees ached to be free. She didn't have much circulation in her legs and they were beginning to feel numb. She shakily hobbled to the far side of the room, away from the door that was locked tightly from the outside. She leaned her forehead against the sheet-metal. It felt refreshing to her, considering she was dehydrated and felt feverish. She needed water; there wasn't even sweat coming off her body.

Her body.

That's when she looked down and realized, acid in her throat, that she was naked. Some sicko had ripped her clothing from her body and left her here, naked as the day she was born, covered in grime and blood and soot from the binding of the ropes.

Soot. That was odd. What would it be doing in a torture chamber?

The door squeaked as it slid open. In came the man from the big screen himself, the infamous Angel of Death, and behind him followed two security officials, armed with guns and batons and who knew what else behind their bullet-proof vests and black sunglasses. The door shut and the man flicked the lightswitch on, the single light overhead filling the room with a calming light, one that was slightly more pink than the blinding white used in corporate offices.

"I thought you might find it a bit comforting to realize that I am not without a sense of hospitality, Ms. Stewart. Even if you may not recognize this room, you may know who used to live here."

She was panicking, huddled against the back wall, totally exposed to him and without anywhere to hide. Ashes puffed up as he slowly walked toward the center of the room, the musty gray floor, the thick pad of carpeting all having absorbed the silvery powder only to expel it like a miniature bellows at each footstep. He coughed in the dust and blinked away the powder, the same which covered the whole front side of her body and hair. She was terrified and attempted to make herself smaller by shrinking to the floor, drawing her knees up as far as they could go before they began to protest at the severe strain from the rope. The man smiled at her, eyes glinting evilly in the light.

"Why are you so scared in such a familiar place?"

"Who are you? What do you want from me? What are you going to do to me?" Her voice cracked in her thirst and she coughed harshly, her lacerated throat berating her for such angry methods of communication.

The man chuckled. "So full of questions. Your first was to my identity. I am the monarch of this country, the President of these United States. What I want from you is simple: information about your leader. As for what I will do to you, it is not I who will do a single thing, _darling,_" he purred, a lust in his eyes at seeing her so helpless and cold. "No, my dear, my agents will be extracting the information from you by any means necessary. And with nobody to come save you, you're doomed to either spill the words, or spill your blood."

He winked maliciously at her, turning away. "Perhaps you are still wondering why it is that I may want so much about your revered leader. It is simple, really. See, he is the key to everything. He is the key to both your salvation and my destruction. I need him dead, and you're going to tell me every last thing you know about him, relevant or not, to help me."

"Why would I do such a thing?"

"It's his life or yours, Ms. Stewart. Think very carefully before you put yourself unnecessarily in harm's way."

She tried to swallow, but nothing soothed the burn in her throat, the lump pressing tighter against her trachea. She wanted to scream, cry, rush at the man and hit him, but she had no energy in her body.

"Please...please, don't kill me..." The submissive tone in her voice, the way she hung her head, the dry tears that she could not cry, only served to make the man smile even wider.

"That is all under your control, Ms. Stewart. I did not come here to kick you whilst you are still getting acclimated. I came here to see to it that your needs are met and that you understand the truth behind this room that you are staying in."

He waltzed slowly over to a spot near the largest window. "This is where the bed used to sit."

He moved then to the other side of the room. "The desk."

He then pointed at her. "The musical instruments, the pillows and blankets, all the other things used to sit where you are, Ms. Stewart. Even the closet has been emptied, though it once was full of priceless suits, tuxedos, and all sorts of other fine, hand-crafted garments of formality and informality, all of highest quality and perfection. And can you guess as to the simple truth of who used to sleep in this room every night?"

She could not meet his gaze. She had a hunch.

"That man is the one you call your leader. He is none other than my son. I want him here, and I want him dead. No son of mine will be a traitor to his own father. His siblings shall live, for they are merely under his compulsive spell due to his way with words. No, I only want him dead, as he is a rotten apple, and one rotten apple spoils the bunch. My son...the one who loved you so, Ms. Stewart, the one who couldn't save you last night at that concert you were a part of. Oh yes, I knew. He told me all about you, about everything I could ever imagine to hear about you, especially when he was in high-school. After the seven-seven-six incident, however, he stopped talking, and he began formulating the plan to overthrow me. I will have order, Ms. Stewart, and I must destroy my own creation in order to have it. He will come for you, rest assured, and you will most certainly live given that you comply with my quest for information, even if you are not without some idle torment for the agents and their own personal amusement. However, Ms. Stewart...No matter what your emotional stature toward the hate-breed child of mine is, he will die one way of another, either of his own disease or of mine own hand."

"What disease? What incident? Why are you doing this to me?"

Again her voice was strained, and again it was dry, and again he was smiling, ever-so-cruel in his pleasure at her pain. "Oh, Ms. Stewart...I will tell you all in good time, if you agree to your end of the bargain. I will give you twenty-four hours to think about your decision, and if you do not decide in my favor, there will be consequences. I am not the most patient man in the world, but I do have a sense of pride and generosity, and I will allow you another opportunity every six hours following this time tomorrow, should you decide against me. I do not want to have to employ such force or servitude, but if you leave me no choice, then just remember that you can only blame your leader, the one who claimed to have loved you so even without knowing you."

He laughed riotously, as if it were the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Miley cowered even further under his stare, feeling like it was the most horrid thing she'd ever heard.

"So, dear," he said as he calmed himself, "I'm fairly certain you're hungry and thirsty and whatnot, am I right?"

She did not respond. He shrugged and sighed.

"Perhaps I was wrong. I'll see you in twenty-fo-"

"No, wait!"

She had squeaked more than spoken, but he turned back to face her. "What is it?"

"I...I need water...at least some water."

He nodded, eyes cold and hardened, face blank. She shivered as she recalled that Kitten was so very much alike him, despite having deep, intelligent, caring eyes that said he could never harm anyone against his better judgment. This man was different. He was full of malice and scorn and pain, endless tirades of pain.

"Agent K. The water, if you please."

The agent held out a two-liter bottle full of nothing but clear water. Miley nearly bowed before it like it was her messiah. She inhaled sharply, the taste of ash stinging her throat.

"This is all yours, Ms. Stewart," the monarch said, setting the bottle on the floor in front of the agents. "Will you be needing anything else?"

"F-food...and perhaps a toilet or something."

The man laughed. "Food will be brought every eight hours, starting at noon, which is another hour-and-a-half away. As for a toilet...you're sitting on a gigantic litterbox that my son created when he set fire to this very room the day he had his hissy fit with me about a month ago. It has ash and some absorbent patches of carpet. Surely you can use your imagination, right?"

"B-but how will I go if I c-can't spread my legs?"

It was a painful question for her to ask, her sense of pride still very strong and adamant, but she was in too much need to plead differently. He laughed.

"I'll leave you to figure that one out. Have a pleasant morning, Ms. Stewart."

He cut power in the room and left, the agents following behind him. The one who had been standing to the right of the door seemed to linger, to hesitate, but in the semi-dark, there was no way to be certain. Even though he had delivered the water, he was by no means able to be trusted or believed in. He was just as bad as the leader he served.

Miley had never been so appreciative of something as simple as water as she was at that minute. She had one problem, however: getting the cap off. So this was the monarch's idea of a sick joke. Leaving a girl to be tortured by hunger, thirst, and lack of hygiene, then giving her what she needed at a very hefty price. She was aggravated, but could do little to fight the situation, so desperately in need of water was she. She scooted across the floor, using her feet and butt as a sort of dragging method as she slid sideways toward the water. When she got to it, she paused. There was no easy way to get it open. She decided there was only one thing for it: she would have to open it with her teeth.

However, with no grip on the bottle, there was no way she could break the seal on the cap. She thought for a half-second about what to do before lifting her calves up and pressing them down over the cap and short neck of the bottle. She winced as she kept pressing, the ropes tightening and digging into her skin, threatening to break into her flesh and draw blood, but she was beyond pain at that moment. She wedged the bottle between her legs just enough to get a grip, and even as she bent over and felt the rope break the skin on the sides of her knees and ankles, she bit down on the cap and twisted her neck as hard as she could.

The cap unzipped from the sealant. Had she any tears left, she would have cried in joy. She pulled her legs up slightly, lifted the cap off, stuck the lip of the bottle into her mouth, and gently suckled at the opening like a newborn would her mother's teat, drinking the nourishing milk that flowed from within, light and warm and creamy, full of life and happiness.

The water wasn't quite up to par with a mother's loving breast milk, but it was sufficient to the girl's needs. She could instantly feel herself regaining consciousness, the heat fading from her forehead, her body temperature regulating in the slight chill of the darkened room, her wounds now beginning to bleed a bit more forcefully from the sudden increase in water. She could feel herself coming back to life, and did not stop drinking the bottle until a full liter was gone and ingested into her system. However, she did not know when she would next be getting more water, so she saved the remainder of the bottle, pushing it with her mouth and lifting her legs like an acrobat. It was painful for her to force so much with her teeth and gums, the bones in her mouth all protesting the severe pressure, but she sighed with relief once the neck of the bottle slid out from between her aching calves. She rolled across the floor to where the man had said the bed used to be and closed her eyes, feeling very scared, very cold, and very, very alone.

It was pointless. She was gone. He was done. Failure. Dead. The end, goodbye.

He heard footsteps even with his head laying on the table, forehead against the wood, feeling cold and numb and defeated. He sighed into the table, feeling the evil glare against the back of his head.

"So that's it, then? You're just going to give up? Just let go of the best damn thing that ever happened to you?"

He didn't answer and let his eyes remain closed. He could hear the livid shake in her voice as she stood over him.

"You're a pussy. My own damn brother, giving up on the love of his life. She's the best fucking thing that ever happened to you, and you're sitting here moping like a fucking coward. Where the hell did my brother disappear to? Fucking disappointment. You don't deserve to call yourself a leader. Not now, you fucking pussy. Can't even fight for his own fucking girlfriend. What the fuck kind of love is that?"

She stormed away. He could almost imagine her red-hair whipping as she stomped across the floor in anger. He resisted the urge to sigh. He couldn't muster up the energy to cry in pain. There was nothing left.

_Pussy._

Suddenly, he was up. His eyes were hard and set and he decided that there was one thing he needed, one thing to get him back to Miley.

"Lilly."

He pulled out his phone as he slammed his fist crushingly against the elevator button. The elevator responded in accordance with the violence and rushed him to the surface as his phone attempted to reach hers. One ring. Two. Three. Nothing. He hung up and clipped it to his bike, throwing his helmet on. The bike's computer synchronized to the phone.

_What would you like to do, _the computer asked through the helmet, the sound resonating through his earpiece. The mic engaged for him, and he spoke very clearly and very precisely.

"GPS track phone X-F-zero-zero-four-T-two-Z-X, author Lillian Truscott."

_Searching...searching...search complete. Track cellular GPS?_

"Confirm directive."

The bike levitated, swiveling toward the exit. He teased it over to the elevator, which lifted him slowly and gently into the garage. The door opened once the lift set, and he twisted the throttle backwards, the bike lunging out of the garage and onto the street.

"Plot course for directive."

_Plotting...plotting...would you like to utilize the fastest possible route?_

"Negative. Utilize aerial route."

_Plotting...aerial route attained. Utilize flight corridor?_

"Negative. Direct distance flight."

_Direct distance flight confirmed. Attain vertical height of one thousand feet._

The bike reacted on its own even as he raced down the street toward the south. However, once he was in the air and climbing, the bike east with a slight northern angle.

_Aerial pattern attained. Engage autopilot?_

"Affirmative."

Lilly held her head in her hands, wondering what she had done to deserve this life. This wasn't how the world was supposed to go. This wasn't how it was meant to be. And yet, there she sat, on the cold stone bench, the steel bars before her a sickening reminder that she had been incarcerated for speeding, violating traffic signals, and creating a public disturbance, not to mention the charges for resisting arrest and assault and battery of a police robot; she had used a baseball bat that she kept in the side-cover plastic on her bike to beat the police bot into submission; it was merely a Ranger and thus could not defend itself well; however, when the Locker got there, it immediately impounded her vehicle and handcuffed her within its own confines, taking her to the local police station in southern Iowa. She had been behind the bars for a couple hours, and there was rumor drifting through the corridors that she would be euthanized before nightfall. She was angry at Kitten that this had happened. It was all his fault. If he had never come into her life, she wouldn't be sitting in that cell, on death row.

And yet, at the same time, she wasn't angry with him. Even though it had been his idea and he'd been the one pushing, she had agreed to go along with it just to see what the hell would happen. In the end, she was the one with the choice to follow him, and she had done so. It was only his fault for wanting his freedom so goddamned badly that he'd fight his own father, the monarch of the country, the man who could kill his child as easily as a cat and not think twice about it, while even as he was so vigilant against his country's leader, it was not for him to bend her free-will to join him. And the reason she had joined him was simple: because Miley had joined him.

Miley wasn't to blame, though. She was the one who had been kidnapped and most likely killed. She shook her head. Miley _had _to be alive. If she found out that the brunette beauty that she had fallen in love with was dead, she would no longer have any purpose in life. She would become a cold, empty shell, and would probably begin a killing spree across the country, destroying those who were nearest to her. It was a chilling thought. She wasn't a killer, nor did she intend to be. Miley had to be alive. She _had _to, as much for her own sake as for Lilly's.

The blonde cried in frustration. Everything was so fucked up. There was no salvation at this point. Everything would be over in a matter of hours.

So then why was it that the police officer, the human officer, stood at her cell door and stuck the key into it?

"Convict, you have a visitor."

The door opened, and into the cell stepped the last person she wanted to see at that moment.

"You."

He nodded, holding his arms wide. "Lilly, I don't care how much you may hate me or not," the door clanged shut behind him and he broke his stead for just a moment, "but...I'm going to get her. I know my father well enough, Lilly. He wants me to surrender. He wants my body, dead or alive, presented to him, and if I'm not already dead, he'll kill me himself. Miley is a ransom for him. She'll go free if I'm dead and euthanized in front of him. I don't really care either way. I'm going to die by the end of August anyways and I'm not going to give up Miley. My sister was right: she was the best damn thing that ever happened to me, and goddamnit, I will bring her back for you, Lilly. I swear that to you on my life."

The officer who had opened the cell stood, open-mouthed, at the door, disbelief in his eyes. Lilly was struggling not to cry, but her shaking body told all. Her eyes were pained and thankful and angry and comforted all at once. She moved without thinking and stepped into his arms; he hugged her tightly, feeling her sob into his shirt. He slowly rocked her back and forth, gently shushing her, and turned around to look at the guard, still holding her gently in his arms.

"Officer, what will it take to get her out of here alive?"

The man blanched. "Say _what?_"

"How much will it take to get her out of here alive?"

The man looked extremely uncomfortable. "Legally...it can't be done."

Kitten changed tact immediately. "You have a wife and a family at home, do you not? One, maybe two kids?"

The man gasped. "How did you-"

"This isn't a question of legality anymore, sir. I'm the monarch's eldest son and I'm flying in the face of his jurisdiction just by being here with this girl, someone for whom I care deeply. I will ask you again, sir: what will it take to get her out of here alive?"

He gulped. "I could be euthanized for this..."

"I will see to it personally that you are not harmed. I'll even see to it that you have your bills paid for six months without question of expense, so that every cent of income you take home is yours to keep or spend. You will have health insurance, medical coverage, car insurance, dental, whatever you need. I need this girl out of this cell right now, and I need her out alive."

The man sighed. "If you can really promise me all that, then just...make sure you get that other girl back."

He opened the cell door and released the duo; Kitten memorized his last name and ID number, even recording to himself the address of the station; he was not one who would go against his word. They straddled his bike and he lifted into the air; he had given Lilly a spare helmet that was also linked into the bike's computer system.

_Input directive, _a calm female voice said in her ear.

"GPS track phone X-F-zero-zero-four-T-two-Z-Y, author Miley Stewart."

_Searching...searching...search complete. Cellular GPS is corrupted. Accurate coordinates may be unattainable. Apparent location is Maryland._

"Maryland is D.C.," Lilly heard him mutter through the headset, still feeling the bike lift slowly underneath them. "Plot a course for the White House, aerial route, no corridors."

_Plotting...plotting...plotting complete. Begin autopilot?_

"Negative. Scan building for life-form of Miley Stewart."

_Scanning for DNA representation...scan complete. Organism found and located. _

"Present live data stream of physical condition."

A note chimed in the helmets and the wind-breaker screens on the helmets suddenly gleaned a large amount of data about Miley's well-being. According to her heart-rate and blood-cell-count, she appeared to be sleeping. Her brain activity spiked slightly, signaling a dream.

"Lock onto target and maintain live vitality feed."

_Data lock on host chip confirmed. Input directive._

"Commence autopilot via plotted travel path."

_Autopilot engaged. Please hang on tight._

The bike suddenly rocketed away, its occupants nearly flying off the seats and down a thousand feet to the ground. Lilly grimaced at the amount of force being exerted on her body.

"Kitten...how is it able to track her vitals?"

"I once gave her a necklace. It has a chip in it, and that chip can read her body's vital signs. You have one similar to it, I believe."

Lilly fingered the necklace; it was not tight against her skin, but it was impossible to get off unless cut; he had fashioned a super-powerful adhesive to a severed chain link and then pressed the ends together after the necklace was seated. She was a bit shocked at his boldness, but she also felt a bit gleeful; he must have cared about her if he would go through the trouble of monitoring her own vital signs when he could be off doing more important, more enjoyable things. She was still angry at him for losing the love of her life, but she could not hide a small half-smile; he cared about them both. She knew he meant what he said, and she believed in him. She would have Miley back, no matter what it took.

"Wake up, Ms. Stewart. Your twenty-four hours is up."

She woke very suddenly and sat upright, surprised to find that her arms and legs had been unbound while she slept. She was still huddled on the small spot of carpet where the bed had stood and she had completely drained the one bottle she'd been given the day before. She now gazed up at the monarch, fear in her eyes, goosebumps on her skin. She shivered involuntarily. He grinned wickedly.

"So, will you talk? Or will Kenton have to beat some sense into you?"

She shrunk up against the wall, utterly terrified. "I...I can't tell you anything," she said quietly, her voice hoarse from lack of use. The man tutted.

"Then I'm afraid you leave me no choice. Kenton, this is your forte. I think...ten rounds should do it. I cannot stay and watch; I have a meeting I must attend to."

"Coward," Miley muttered. He heard and frowned.

"Why do you call me a coward, I, the most powerful man in the world?"

"Because you can't own up to putting an innocent girl to death."

He laughed; it stabbed her heart with an icy vengeance. "Oh, darling...I have no intention of killing you. However, if you do die because of this, your death is merely collateral damage, and it will draw my son here even faster to avenge you, and then he will die unconditionally."

Her eyes grew hard, but inside she was breaking into tiny pieces. Even the little optimistic part of her consciousness had faded into a dull, unnoticeable poking at her mind, and the soothing words of comfort it tried to lend to her no longer had any impact with her. She was resigned to death.

"For her speaking out against me, perhaps fifteen rounds will make her more...discreet, shall we say?"

She heard a man cracking his knuckles, sniggering. "I won't let you down, sir." His voice was deep and strong, and Miley could only imagine how much pain one of these alleged rounds would cause her.

The door closed and she waited. The man sighed.

"Such a beautiful girl...Do you really want this torture? What good could ever come of it? The sooner you give in, the sooner it all stops and you walk away."

"I can't betray my friends and family. They are my everything."

Another loud sigh. "Ms. Stewart, I will give you one last chance. I really don't want to have to do this." He sounded anguished. "But if you deny me information, I am left with no choice."

"I...I stand by what I said before."

"Then you leave me no choice."

She was suddenly scooped into very powerful arms and thrown into the wall across the room. Her shoulder smacked into the plaster, striking a two-by-four stud in the wall. It began to bruise almost immediately as she fell to the floor. She screamed in pain and fear, wanting none of it.

The hands grabbed her legs and swung her body around. This time, her knees impacted the wall as she flipped back across the room. She felt one kneecap pop uncomfortably, but the bruising was more than she could deal with. She now hurt all over.

"Two down, thirteen to go," the voice called. She looked up in time to see a very strong, very tall Samoan man wrapping his hands around her middle. He grunted lightly and pitched her at one of the sheet-metal window covers, the icy steel rattling loudly as she felt an instant headache overtake her, leaving her blind; her forehead had left a sizable dent in the metal from the impact and she now saw stars. The hands once again grabbed her by the ankles, and she felt herself flying vertically, her stomach doing flips with the rest of her body. She landed on her back and had the wind knocked out of her, feeling new pain in her hips and spine. The next throw smashed her legs into the sheet-metal plating; her calf snapped under the extreme pressure and she shrieked at the immediate pain, so unbearable that it left her blind. Agony ripped through her as her bone separated and she crumpled into a heap on the floor, unable to move due to the split bone. She sobbed into the floor. The Samoan groaned.

"Honey, I'm only half-way. Are you gonna give up the information, or do I have to sling you around some more?"

She gave no answer, merely screamed into the carpet. He covered his ears.

"Jesus, what the hell is wrong-"

Then he saw the large purple garter encircling the center of her calf, the bone split diagonally in half, giving her the appearance of having two knees. He inhaled sharply.

"Holy shit." She heard him pull out a radio as she struggled to blink through the pain. "Sir, I can't finish the rounds."

"_What? Why not?"_

"Her calf, sir. It's snapped in half."

"_You did WHAT?"_

"I can't continue the rounds with her in such a critical state. There could be severe damage if I keep it up."

The voice on the radio paused. _"Get Medic in there to attend to her leg. Sedate her, move her to the infirmary. She is not to be given any special treatment, merely to be given rest and a splint. She will be given beatings instead of rounds."_

"Yes, sir." He changed the channel. "Medic! To the eldest's room NOW."

The door banged open almost immediately. "What's wrong?"

The Samoan gestured to the broken girl, her face pale, pupils contracted, eyes distant. She was falling into the grips of shock. The medic cursed.

"You and your goddamned violence on the prisoners. When will you ever learn?"

The medic found himself pinned to the wall, the injections and pills in his labcoat rattling around irritably. "And you'll not forget that it was I who nearly broke you one year ago, Medic. Do your job quietly or I'll break your fucking legs too."

He released the unperturbed medic, who rushed to the girl's side. "Honey, look up at me."

She gazed up at him, eyes blank. She had retracted within herself, merely leaving her body to do its own bidding.

"Hon, I'm going to have to inject you with a slight sedative. It will put you to sleep so that I can fix your leg and get you to the infirmary. Can you be a brave girl for me and do that?"

"Just stick her with the damn needle already," the big man said irritably.

"I'm the medic here! It is my responsibility to my patients to treat them with care and respect, no matter who they are or how they came to be here!"

The Samoan scoffed. "Whatever. Just get her outta here. I've gotta fix these plates."

The medic sighed, turning back to the silent, motionless brunette beside him. She held a level gaze with him, never blinking, never breaking eye-contact.

"Honey, I want to help make it better. Will you let me do that?"

She gazed at him long and hard. After what seemed like several hours, she nodded slowly. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm going to ask you to stick out your right arm. This won't hurt a bit, but it will put you to sleep. When you wake up, this pain will be gone, alright?"

She nodded again, slowly, minutely, almost in such a way that couldn't be seen. She gently slid her arm forward, exposing a single vein in the crook of her elbow. The medic slipped a needle from within his coat and gently fed the tip into her vein; her fingers twitched but otherwise she did not react. He gently began administering the sedative, and her eyes began to droop. She was fighting the sleep, he could see.

"Relax, Ms. Stewart. I'm going to make sure you are well taken care of. I will see to it personally."

Her shoulders visibly drooped and she slowly nodded off, the sedative taking its toll. He stopped the injection at just the right moment, deepening her sleep to that of nearly comatose state, at which point he retracted the needle, bandaged the crook of her elbow, stowed the needle back in its slot, and gently scooped her limp, naked body into his arms. He then turned, looking again at the Samoan.

"Kenton...I know you. You wouldn't do this if you didn't have to. Please, Kenton. If not for her, for me. Don't do this to her. Not to her."

The medic's eyes were filled with sorrow and grief. The Samoan attempted to keep himself steady, but his voice shook.

"I don't have any choice, Medic...if the monarch were to discover that I had disobeyed his orders, I would be euthanized."

"Kenton...please. Form an agreement with her. We have to keep this girl healthy. It's not right of him to do this to her, to use blackmail against us to keep us here. Remember what almost happened to us?"

The Samoan nodded. "I...I'll work something out with her. You're right, Medic. I'm...I can't believe I could have killed her. How could I be so blind?"

The man appeared to be breaking. The medic nudged him in the stomach. "Hey, now. You did what he told you to. You tormented her. But...I urge you to find another way. There must be another way. Remember what he put us through. Just remember that. You're not blind or stupid. You're trapped with the rest of us. This is our chance, Kenton."

He nodded at the medic. "Alright. I'll try and find a way. Now, tend to your patient. That leg looks like it's ready to fall off."

The medic glanced at her right leg, swallowing hard. "I'm out, Kenton. Shape up," he called, shutting the door behind him. And with that, he hefted the girl to the infirmary without detour, comment, or question.

"Kitten, how are we going to do this?"

"What do you mean, how?"

"I mean, how are you going to pull off this heist?"

"Well, since the monarch is going to be doing a public speech in two days, he'll be out of the way and I'll have plenty of free access, what with the guards knowing me and all. I'll be armed, of course, but I'll be escorting you as a convict to Miley's room."

"Wait, how do you know where she'll be?"

He inhaled slowly, then exhaled, calming himself at memories threatening to overpower him. "I have a hunch. It's the best I've got. Anyways, he'll be out of the picture and I'll have free reign."

"What if she's not there?"

"She will be. I have an inkling."

She slammed the man against the inside of the elevator as it rose slowly to the top floor of the hotel. "Kitten, an inkling isn't good enough!"

He sighed and pulled out his phone. "Locate Cyrus chip."

_Located. _The screen changed to show a digital layout of the white-house and its different floors. However, Miley had since moved. He looked puzzled.

"What's wrong?"

"She...she's not in my room anymore."

"Your room?"

"I torched the furniture out of my room in a fit of rage. Chances are the whole thing is made of ash and soot."

"So she'll be filthy?"

"Filthy, naked, and freezing. I wouldn't be surprised if she's being tortured right now."

He had barely managed to finish the statement, as his throat had swollen shut and he felt the vestiges of tears licking at his eyes, threatening to run down his face and leap into his shirt. Lilly wasn't too far ahead of him in her own pain.

"Kitten...what kind of torture?"

"Don't think about that," he choked out quickly. "Never think about that. Just remember what's relevant: saving Miley."

The blonde nodded, resting her head against his shoulder. He curled his arm around her shoulders, holding her steady as she played with the zipper on his red jacket. She looked up at the man's distant gaze.

"Where is she, if she's not in your old room?"

"It looks like she was in a room we used to use for storage."

"What would she be doing there?"

"Vitals..." he looked back at the phone and his face visibly lost color. "Holy shit..."

The elevator opened at their floor and he strode hurriedly to their suite, practically dragging the blonde behind him. She was at a loss for words; he was acting strange, more so than normal.

"Kitten-"

He pulled her into the suite and locked the door, the key-card sliding back into his front pocket. He pinned her to the wall, though he was very gentle in doing so, his eyes clouded and distraught.

"Vital signs show that she has a slowed heart-rate and is deep in sleep. There is heavy hemorrhaging across her calf."

"Which means what?" Lilly asked worriedly.

"Which means that her calf is broken. Other hemorrhaging has been identified throughout the body, which means that she has bruising, probably from blunt force trauma."

"Kitten, just tell me what it means!"

The pain so visible in the blonde's eyes would only grow worse at the truth, but it was a truth that he couldn't hide from her.

"She was either thrown around the room or struck with hard, heavy objects. She was tortured, Lilly. Tortured."

The blonde began to cry, shaking as she stood, yet did not push him away. He kept his hands on her upper arms, gently holding her to the wall, trying to steady his own emotional roller-coaster. For him, it was devastatingly agonizing to think about. For Lilly, it meant the end of the world.

"Kitten...what can we do?"

He sighed. "I don't know. It seems like there's nothing we _can _do for the moment. I can't go storming into the building that I willingly revoked the privilege to enter while my father is in there. It...It's too big of a risk to go in now. I can't lose you. I refuse to lose you."

"But you're interested in Miley, not me. Why am I so important?"

"Because you're what Miley deserves!"

He released her and shed his jacket, throwing it erratically to the bed. He pressed his face and hands to the sliding glass doors that led out to the balcony, just leaning against the cold surface, cooling off. He couldn't get angry now. It would only serve to kill him faster.

Lilly gently crept up to him and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Kitten...are you afraid of dying?"

He drew a breath. "No," he replied unsteadily, the lie clearly evident as much in his voice as his eyes. She dug her fingers into his shoulder.

"You don't have to lie to me. I want to help you."

"There _is _no help for me! The next time I fall asleep may very well be my last! At least I'm already dying as it is. Nothing matters anymore. Nothing but saving her. Nothing but bringing everything back to the way it should be. And I cannot sleep knowing that I may never wake up, knowing that I still have a chance to save everyone and everything from what's happened. I hate it. I hate what it's come to. This...all of it, it was never supposed to happen! But my father...my father!"

He pounded his fist weakly against the glass, shaking fairly violently. Lilly slipped her arms around his torso, pulling him close; he spun in her grip and looked down at her with shaking pupils.

"You don't want to die, do you?" Lilly asked quietly. Tears were still falling from her eyes.

"I don't have a choice."

"I didn't ask about your choice, I asked if you wanted to live!"

He sighed deeply. "Yes. I want to live. But I wasn't dealt that hand of cards. My premature death is in my future, and there is nothing I can do to change it. So as much as I love life and being able to live in it, I...I have to come to terms with myself about losing it all. There is no alternative. I will die by the end of August. At least...at least if I can rescue Miley, the best thing that ever happened to me...I'll be able to die in peace without regrets."

Lilly let go of him and punched him hard in the stomach. He resisted the reflex to double over in pain and instead let his eyes hit the floor. He said nothing, just tried to calm his aching stomach.

"You...you can't die! I won't let you!"

She then clung to him even tighter than before. He felt as though he was being suffocated.

"Lilly, it can't be helped," he whispered. "There isn't any hope for me. I have to face my demons and rescue the angels, and those angels right now are you, Miley, and this country. I cannot die in peace until I accomplish those three tasks. You need to be with the one you love, Miley needs to be saved, and my father needs to be taken down, even if I go with him. There is a special spot in hell reserved for him, and he can't drag me down. God already gave me my own little cloud to sleep on each night and to watch over you from each day. Just...let it go. I can't save myself from death, and he's already waiting for me to walk up the steps to the porch, to knock and open the door. This is my last walk, Lilly."

He closed his eyes and focused on breathing. He had never looked so tired, so distraught, so feeble and powerless ever before during the entire time she had known him. It was heart wrenching. It was painful. It was the last thing Lilly ever wanted to see.

"Kitten...don't die. Don't die, don't leave us..."

She buried her face into his chest and let the tears flow again. The tirade of salty anger and sadness never seemed to end, and he could do nothing to comfort her. No words could be said. Nothing to change the mood in the room. And as Lilly cried herself out, she felt her energy leave her body, and drifted into the sea of darkness.

Kitten felt her body go limp against his and realized that she had fallen into dream, and without a second thought, he lifted the girl up gently and laid her on the sheet that clung tightly to the mattress, drawing the top sheet and comforter up to her chin. He gently dabbed a damp cloth against her cheeks, erasing the stains, and undid her ponytail, letting her blonde locks flow freely like sand in an hourglass. He sighed and leaned down, gently kissing her forehead. He felt so ashamed for the truth he had to hide.

"I'm so sorry, Lilly," he whispered. He turned out the lights and stepped out onto the balcony, the moonlight bathing him in its soft, forgiving glow. He felt both purified and damned, and as he gazed out over the slew of lights and traffic beneath and around him, he was overcome with a wave of grief at the thought that he would never be able to see such a beautiful sight of mankind's creation ever again, and he allowed one icy tear to fall from his eye, down his cheek, and off his chin, plummeting to the sidewalk below, where it struck the ground and dissolved, erased from existence.

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**_Did anyone pick up on the symbolism there? Creepy, eh? I won't say much more; I'll leave you guys to figure out what puzzle pieces go where. I shall not spoil anything. You'll love me and hate me for it all in the end, though. Everything will tie together. And if it doesn't when the climax goes down, it will either in the continuation of this story, or it will be in part two, the latter looking more likely. Read it all, and please tell me what you think with that little 'review' button on the page. :)_**


	7. I Won't See You Tonight

**_A/N: Sorry for not updating sooner, guys. I just finished this chapter (and caught a fatal error within it that would have skewed the entire meaning of the story) and I'm running a 100 degree Fahrenheit fever. Not the best way to write a story, but the death metal in the background is keeping me alert and awake for now. _**

**_cOoKiEs-AnD-cReAm234: I'm impressed that you managed to read the whole story without getting bored. Congratulations! It's not an easy accomplishment with about 10,000 words per chapter to sift through. I disagree a little bit with you about my writing; I have read and written far better in my seventeen years of life, and this is merely to challenge myself to write longer, not necessarily better. Sad thing for me to say, but it's the reason for writing. Plus I liked the variety of futures I could come up with. My next HMFF is going to be shorter in terms of word count per chapter, but it will be more realistic, even if it's an AU story. As for the love-triangle...I'm confident that the first reaction to the way I forever change this story in Chapter 9 (the projected climax; I still have one day left to get through) will shock you all. It's pretty amazing, IMHO. Miley will escape...but will she live? (Oh, and thanks for the +fav; it means a lot to me)_**

**_Morbid Crew: Thanks for the +fav! At least, that's what we call them on DeviantART. :)_**

**_Thanks to everyone for the reading and reviewing. It means the world to me to know that you fanfic-ers out there want me to keep going with this story. I have yet to tell Miley herself about this story, but I may just hold that for another day. It's only about 8:00 here, but my jacuzzi tub is calling me. Enjoy the read. :)_**

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Miley felt the pain before she realized it was attacking her all over with a vicious stabbing and a violent outcry at her abuse. She could feel every single bruise pounding against her body, but nothing was to be quite so painful as the crushing vicegrip of her broken calf. It felt like she'd been fed into a meat grinder and steamrollered into beef jerky from the waist down on her left side. The worst part was that she hadn't even opened her eyes.

She cracked one eye open, realizing she was panting deeply and raggedly. Her wrists were strapped to the arms of a chair, the footrest extended and supporting her legs. Her eyes splayed wildly around the room, a single light shining down on her from above, the extremities of the room bathed in darkness. She moaned, panting, rasping for air and relief; the pain was bringing tears to her eyes and she wanted so badly for it to end, even if it meant death. It was the only way out of the pain. She was naked, bruised, and broken, strapped to a strange chair in a dark room with nobody around her for comfort.

She screamed in pain as a bolt of blood-cells lanced into her split calf. A figure jolted suddenly in his chair and spun around quickly, gazing at Miley in concern; he had been asleep on the workbench before him and hadn't been outright visible at first glance. Miley locked eyes with him; to him, she looked like an animal that had been chained and whipped. She glared at him.

"Get...me...out of here..." she panted hoarsely. Her voice was so lethal it sent chills down the man's spine. He gulped.

"M-Miss Stewart...I can't release you. I'm under orders from the monarch. However...I can ease the pain..."

"Just...do...someth-" she started, but was cut short with a strangled moan as another wave of pain from her bruises smacked against her body, followed by the spiteful anger that her leg cursed at her. She screamed again, and it was not one of mock-fear; it was deep, hoarse, and sounded like she was being murdered. The medic's eyes widened; he had never seen someone in such bad shape.

"H-hey, easy, Miss Stewart. Don't strain so hard against the straps."

She failed to heed his warning and yanked hard on the leather cuffs, the steel pins threatening to buckle and snap. Her pain was so great that she failed to heed his warning. Her calf buckled and felt as though a fistful of razorblades had slashed through it. She panted deeply.

"Medic...just...help me," she pleaded desperately. Tears fell down her face at irregular intervals and her bloodshot eyes were all but happy; the deep sapphire blue seemed to draw all hope and prayer and happiness into its core and obliterate it from existence, much like a dark, vast whirlpool of doubt and darkness.

"A-alright, open your mouth."

She did as asked and he slipped a small white pill onto her tongue.

"Drink this," he coaxed. She felt him press a water bottle mouth up against her lips; she had pinned her eyes shut and clenched her muscles to fight the pain, but it was an uphill battle and she didn't have all her wits about her to help get to the top. Finally, she let the edge of the bottle slip between her lips and she suckled gently on the water until she had a mouthful.

"Tilt your head back and swallow."

She did as directed and felt the bottle again at her lips as she brought her head back forward; she drank deeply until the bottle was nearly empty, then gasped for air.

"It's...not...going...away..." she panted, still fighting the torment ripping at her body. Even as the bruises gradually attempted to fade on their own, her leg was not quite on the same playing field.

"Miss Stewart...just hang on for another five minutes. The medicine is being absorbed by your stomach. Just five minutes."

His voice was soothing and reassuring, but Miley couldn't allow herself to trust it. He was trying to lure her into a false sense of security and then unleash a new hell on her body. She would not stand for it.

"You...government people..." she retched and coughed, "all...the...fucking...same. N-no...s-s-salvation...no hearts...j-just...p-p-pain...and s-s-suffering..."

She gulped, struggling to keep a hold over her body.

"S-such...cowardice...fucking pussies...I hhhhhate you all...nothing b-but p-p-pain...no respect...no dignity...nothing...p-period."

She slumped backwards; the medication was beginning to override the malevolent leg that chose to irresolutely disobey her want of peace and calm. Her breathing slowed and she swallowed dryly again; she was constantly thirsty.

Suddenly, the restraints on her hands were removed. A bottle found its way into her right hand, the cap already removed. She glared weakly at the water, but gratefully drank. The bottle fell to the floor, emptied of all but the condensation at the top of the bottle that her greedy gulping hadn't managed to retrieve from the inside of the plastic container.

"Better?" the medic asked quietly.

A small twang of pain struck her leg, but she only winced and shook it off. "Y-yeah...much."

He sighed deeply, regret instilled in his voice. "Miss...I'm sorry for what Kenton did to you. I know the pain. I know the suffering. I'm as much a prisoner here as you are."

"Bullshit. How can you be? You're a doctor with both his legs in-tact. You can't compare yourself to my existence."

He watched the angry glimmer in her eyes as it migrated to pain, then back to anger. He lifted his left leg, the same as her injured one, and pulled the pant leg up.

Running from the bottom of his knee-cap down to past the hem of his sock, which clung to his ankle, was a long, thin, white line with cross-hatches stretched across it, one per every inch or so, giving his pale leg the appearance of an elongated football. Miley gasped.

"What...?"

"Kenton was ordered to torment me too. He folded my leg in half with his own hands, not just broke it from throwing me into a wall. I had to do my own surgery, and I didn't know then what I do now. This scar is a testament to the trials and tribulations I've suffered and witnessed. This is my reminder that I need to help any effort to eliminate the dictator, any person or thing that presents itself. Any one small insignificant thing that can help me get a leg up on him is enough, and you're the simple spirit that reignited my desire to overcome his treachery and idolatry. You, Miley Stewart...you're like my messiah right now. You've always been a messiah to me, both as yourself and as the ex-pop icon Hannah Montana."

She glared at him harshly. "Her reputation and place in society no longer exists. She was destroyed after being blackened by the government that was so eager to terminate every existence of entertainment from the planet. They trashed her name..._my _name...and now they're going to kill me to get to Him."

"Him?"

"My leader. My savior. The one who brought our cult together. The monarch's own son...He's so brave, so powerful...I want to be able to love him so badly, but...I can't."

"You...love him?"

"I'm not...I...I can't..."

"Why not?"

The medic was just as aware as Miley that she was releasing private information about herself fairly liberally, but he only tried to coax her onward, for reasons she knew not. She swallowed.

"M-my best friend...confessed to me."

"Your best friend?"

She chuckled. "Lola Luftnagle's alter ego is my best friend, just like she was Hannah's. I wouldn't give her up for the world...which is why I'm so torn. She...she confessed her undying love to me the night I was kidnapped. I...I don't know what to do."

She blinked rapidly, willing the tears away. The medic felt a nudge of sympathy for her and gently cleared his throat, not out of need for attention, but to better strengthen his voice.

"How do you feel toward her?"

"I...I feel like I could imagine a future for us together...but I don't know if it's the right thing to do. She proposed, after not saying anything about her feelings for me...we've been besties for more than ten years now, and she's never said a word. I feel like I've caused her unnecessary pain, but now...I'm interested in Kitten, and I'm confused by her...I just don't know what to do."

"How do you feel toward your leader?"

"He's amazing. So strong, so calm, so sturdy...but he's hiding something. I love that mystery around him...He's a perfect gentleman, but he's so perfect and precise in everything he does. He makes my heart soar, makes me want to worship him like a god...but I know he wouldn't do that; the way he looks at me, always so happy and excited and true...I can honestly say that I love him."

"But are you _in _love with him?"

She pondered. "I...I don't know. I've been hurt before, so I don't want to wear my heart on my sleeve. But...when he kissed me...that one time...I felt like I had found everything I was looking for. He's the one...my heart said so, and it's never lied before."

"So you _are _in love with him, then."

"But...what about her? She _proposed_. Oh...oh my God, she proposed to me..."

Miley's eyes widened, large, wondrous orbs of incredulity and realization. She suddenly looked very frightened and insecure.

"Oh my God...she's expecting me to say yes. How...what..."

"Have you ever thought of her that way?"

"Well...I have, yes...a few times, when I was lonely..." A crimson tinge poked out from her cheeks like a flower opening its petals to the morning sunshine. "B-but I don't know whether to say yes or no..."

The medic gulped. "Perhaps now isn't the time to say something, then."

"No, I need all the help I can get. Please...I have to figure this mess out for their sakes."

He blinked. "You're trapped in the monarch's house, and you're more worried about your love life than you are your busted leg which I repaired. That's commitment. Your friends are blessed to have someone like you."

She growled. "They wouldn't have to have a reason to do what they will if I weren't here in the first place!"

"Easy, easy," he shushed. "I'm not doing this by my own will. If he finds out that I've let your arms free when he specifically ordered that they be secured, he'd hang me for sure. I just want to help with what I can, with what I haven't already."

His voice seemed to have a strain to it, as though there was something more to say, but he changed the conversation almost immediately. "I don't want to be the one to bear the bad news, but...It's a well-known fact to everyone here that your leader is doomed to die."

"Well, yeah, but isn't everyone? Old age, disease, accident..."

"He is doomed to die before this year reaches its close."

His words hit her like a stone block. "W-what?"

"He will die before this year is over. He has neglected his condition for too long, refused to have it remedied, and is now facing the end of his life."

"Condition? What condition?"

"When your leader still called the monarch his father, he was on the council for the trial of twenty members of a coven that attempted an overthrow of the government infrastructure. The coven was caught and convicted, and the end sentence was that of euthanization. Your leader begged the monarch to revoke the demand, but to no avail; the twenty men and women, all government officials, by blood or by choice, were burned alive in a furnace, like Auschwitz all over again. The leader began fighting against his father, and the man had to have his son restrained for his outcries and violence; if someone else were to believe in the boy's words, then he would be aided in succeeding where the coven had failed. So, the boy was strapped to the rusty chair in the corner of this room, and he was injected with a serum that was intended to induce a hypnotic trance within his brain while his father ordered him around. The monarch would then have the ultimate ability to control his son's every whim."

"Then what's the condition?"

"The serum was comprised of a modified antibiotic DNA splice tract that had merged and mutated to form a hormone. Unfortunately, the hormone was injected into a partially-resistant bloodstream, the same resistant bloodstream of which he received from his mother's side of the family. The hormone merged with his brain and liver, and thus he can go for long periods of time without food, drink, hygiene, or any other natural human necessity. However, he cannot sleep for months or even years at a time. Every time he sleeps, he loses a percentage of his life's years, about five to six years per sleep state. According to both his and my calculations, he is due to die by the end of August. He called me the day he left here, after burning his room, and told me that he would need sleep within the next few days, which I assume he must have gotten before this event took place. He will only be able to sleep once more, ever, in his life-time, and that sleep will be one he won't wake up from. He expends all his energy, every fiber of his being, in trying to keep your cult strong and motivated that he neglects himself, the way most powerful leaders start out, but his neglect for care and caution has brought him to the last vestiges of his life. He will unfortunately no longer be with us past the end of August, as that will be the longest his body can hold out and defend itself against sleeplessness."

"But...but..." Miley's lip wobbled, tears searing her face as they poured downward. "There...there must be something you can do! Something, anything! I can't lose him!"

"The doctor who injected the serum also took a blood sample after waiting a minute for the hormone to take effect. The resulting DNA configuration in the blood-cells was startling and hopeful. It marked the signs of a cure for his ailment. However...that blood sample was given to your leader to hold on to, for safe-keeping, until he decided that he was ready to implement it. He wanted to be as unhindered as possible for as long as possible before re-instilling his life back upon himself. However, it was among the things he set aflame in his room. He lost everything, all the research, the diagnostics, the thousands, nay, millions, nay, billions of words and codes and scriptures of what he could do, how the serum could be synthesized, everything. He had the answers to his problem...and he tossed everything into the fire, sacrificing it all for a better tomorrow."

"Why...why would he do that for us?"

"For you, Miss. It was all for you. He loved you, was in love with you, still _is _in love with you. He has a passion for you the likes of which cannot be described by textbooks or a plethora of words. He would give his life for you, and I believe that is what he intended to do from the first day he met you. He will die knowing that you were provoked into searching for a better future, for always moving forward and never looking back."

"But...I can't lose him! Can't you make the cure? You've got something, right?"

The desperation in her voice was enough to bring a tear to the medic's eye. "I'm sorry, Miss Stewart...he has given me nothing. I have begged him just as you are begging me, just as he begged his father once upon an earlier day, and the answer is all the same: there is nothing to be done."

"No! No, I won't have it! You get out there and DEMAND that blood of his, that accursed savior that will keep him alive! Get out, out, out! Go! Go get the blood!"

She thrashed wildly against the chair, forgetting that her arms were unstrapped, the medic watching helplessly, head hanging slightly in dejection.

"Miss Stewart...I can't interfere with his free-will."

"Yes you can," she said quietly, struggling to calm down. "You can ask him how it feels to know that I will die when he does. You can ask him what it must be like for me down here, alone in this hell-hole, withholding information about him and the cult so that he can live and defeat the monarch, free me from his captivity. Ask him how it feels to know that by letting himself die, he sacrifices me too."

The medic looked grim. "He will come for you, but I cannot say that he will agree to the infusion. He may believe it is his attempt to escape the fate."

"He has to do it. I will never forgive him if he doesn't."

She shivered in the brisk air, noticing that she was still naked and covered in ashes of the burned furniture and tapestries.

"What do people have against clothes in this place?" she asked quietly, a bit of a whine in her voice. She had suddenly become very self-conscious after revealing herself to a complete stranger. And yet, he didn't feel all that much like a stranger, more like someone she hadn't seen in a long time, someone she'd remembered and forgotten. Even the sad, hang-dog look in his eyes at her sorry plight seemed to say that he knew her. She shook her head gently, clearing the thoughts. For him to know her would be ludicrous.

"You...wouldn't happen to have a blanket or something, w-would you?"

He sighed. "I can't."

"Can't what?"

"Give you any sort of clothing or protection from the monarch's eyes. Especially not now that your leg is still healing."

She shivered again, but maintained enough willpower to look down at her leg. She gulped.

Running from the inside of her left knee all the way down to the inside of her left ankle was a fat, crunchy, black-and-brown-and-red mass of scar tissue and clotted blood, a scab that was helping to seal the skin back together, much like the ugly black stitches poking through every now and again that the medic had used to bring the folds of calf back in place. She cringed at the sight of the bruising and scabbing.

"How does it look from the inside?"

He blinked, then handed her a piece of white paper. A negative of an x-ray had been inked onto the paper, and according to the ink, her calf was straddled by five thin but strong bars made of a magnesium alloy for resistance to rusting, light-weight and durability, and lack of possibility for tetanus. She still did not fully understand the diagram.

"What does it all mean?

"I had to sedate you in the room; there was no way I could carry you out while you were awake. When I brought you here and, er...cleaned you up, from the waist down," he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably, "I cleaned the area where I would make the incision. I cut the skin along that line, and I realigned the bone into place, making sure everything was in-tact and aligned. Since the bone only split at an angle, rather than splintering down the edges and enfolding the marrow, it was a simple matter of holding the bone together while inserting the rods. Since it's such a light-weight and virtually undetectable rod, but it runs the risk of breaking under pressure, I used five rods and inserted a double-ringed collar around the center of the bone. It serves the dual purpose of holding your calf together and of holding the rods in place under pressure. The rods can be removed after eight weeks, when your bone has healed enough to support your weight. However, you may need to undergo physical therapy to regain muscular strength to stand, walk, and run, since your leg will not be strong enough to support you on your first try at walking. Eight weeks is a long time to sit, and two weeks of physical therapy only adds to the length of non-use. I can't guarantee one-hundred-percent strength, but I can at least promise you functionality."

"What about the beatings?"

"What?"

"I heard that Kenton guy talking to the monarch when I was hiding from the pain. I heard him saying something about beatings."

The sullen, haunted look of a tortured soul returned to the medic's face. "The cane."

"The cane?"

"Or the whip. Or the chair. I know not which."

"What are you talking about?" she asked worriedly.

"Miss Stewart...he intends to beat you while you lay on the floor or stretch out over a chair or other surface. He will use a cane or a chair or a whip or some other hard, solid object to strike your back or thighs with, to show you what those who disobey requests and desires get for their misconduct."

"And...there's no stopping it?"

"I tried to sway Kenton's opinion and personal outlook, but I know him too well. He cannot disobey an order from the monarch the way I can. He can't get away with it like I can. I'm the only medic here. If the monarch is injured or similar, I can fix him and nurse him. However, Kenton is expendable. He is only here because of the revolt?"

"The...r-revolt?" Miley tried to stifle a yawn, but the medic would have none of it.

"Not now, Miss Stewart. You need to sleep and rest yourself more. You won't get any better until you relax and return to dream-land."

"I can't go back. There are too many questions to answer, too many problems to solve," she whined. Fatigue was becoming very evident in her voice.

"You must, Miss Stewart. I can't do anything more for you. I've worked my magic in putting your leg back together; the rest is up to mother-nature's hands. And she'll treat you well, Miss Stewart, just the way she always has."

Miley smiled, relaxed into her chair. "You're...different, somehow. I was wrong about you. You're not like them."

He sighed tiredly. "I'm sorry to say Miss Stewart that I am everything like them."

"No, you aren't. You actually care. You...you bothered to put me back together, and now you've given me some small hope for the future. You specifically said that the leader will come for me, and that's the best piece of reassurance you could have ever given any girl: to tell her that her knight in shining armor is coming to save her."

"But...what about Lola, or her alter-ego?"

"She'll come too. Everyone will come. It'll all be better. Li...Lola will come with him," she said drearily, barely catching herself in time. She couldn't reveal too much.

"I believe you, Miss Stewart. Now please, rest yourself. You are tired and need to rejuvenate your body and mind."

She smiled and laughed once, blinking sleepily at the medic.

"You're different. You're nice to me. I...don't know what to say, other than thank you."

He could feel the pink creep into his cheeks, but she had already closed her eyes. Another moment later and she was back to sleep, without care, concern, or pain. He sighed and scrubbed at his eyes with his fists.

"Oh, Miley...I wish I could tell you everything, but it's much too soon," the medic moaned, holding his head in his hands. "I just wish I could say everything that has happened since the revolt, since that waiver was signed and death was called. I...I can't say anything. I swore into secrecy. I swore to the monarch not to say anything. I _swore_ to him!"

He felt the tears bite into his eyes like hungry wolves, but he paid them no mind.

"I promise you, I _swear _to you that you will stay alive and make it out of here, even if I have to die for it. I swear it for Kitten, I swear it for Lilly, I swear it for you, Miley Ray Stewart, I will get you out of here and fight for your life, even if I lose everything for it. I know that I can't tell you everything that I want to say, but...I wish so desperately that I could. You deserve to know what really happened, what was _really _in the fine-print on that paper that the monarch signed. You deserve to know that none of us, the group of twenty, was put to death. I...I can't lie to you anymore, Miley...I know you can't hear me talking to you right now, but you deserve to know that your friend is still alive," the medic finished, his tears spilling from his eyes. And even as he looked upon his friend and smiled at finally being able to see her again, beautiful and radiant, even with an injury and no clothing, it was with a heavy heart that Oliver Oken gulped and shivered into his arms, fearful for her of knowing the truth of who he was and what he had become.

_(location change)_

The moonlight bathed Lilly in its gentle caress, stroking softly against her cheek, combing through her long, beautiful blonde hair, grazing against her skin like a lover, touching and kissing and loving and lusting for every curve of her body as it lay on its side under the covers, knees bent, thighs drawn slightly forward. None of this was to reach her attention, even as the moon, at its nearly-full state, glowed peacefully over the national capital, Lilly was in a tumultuous dream that threatened to pitch her mind over the edge of oblivion.

_Miley stood on the edge of the cliff, gazing out at the water, so peacefully in love with the surroundings. Her body glowed with an ethereal light, a living goddess of beauty, passion, of love and lust, better than the Greek Aphrodite or the Roman Venus. She positively radiated purity and serenity, happiness at its peak. Lilly could not help but gaze longingly at her friend, the one who'd seen her through everything thick or thin and who loved her just as she was loved. Lilly heard the brunette sigh contentedly. _

"_Isn't it just so beautiful, Lilly?"_

_The sun was just beginning to set, the yellow ball of fire casting orange and red and purple and blue across the sky and fluffy clouds, the waves lapping at the base of the cliff, crashing and breaking as a salty brine over the rocks below. The sound was peaceful and relaxing; no gulls, no pelicans, no other noises but the salty sea folding over itself, lovingly throwing itself at the cliff, sliding through and around the water-rounded rocks below. Eternal bliss._

"_It's not as beautiful as you, Miley," Lilly replied shyly. Miley turned slowly, her eyes clinging to Lilly's form as she turned her back to the gorgeous sunshine. Sapphire irises locked into Lilly's periwinkle blues, her expression calm and pleasant, even as her eyes betrayed an inner passion the likes of which Lilly had never seen on her friend's face. It was bold, it was proud, it was powerful, and it was only for her, eyes filled with love and comfort and passion and happiness._

"_But I'm not as beautiful as you, Lilly."_

_She blushed crimson like a pure summer rose, glad to be loved and in love. She sighed, smiling happily, all her teeth shining brightly, radiant white beacons in the sunlight. A gentle breeze drifted past and tousled her hair, but only proceeded to curl Miley's hair more alluringly for Lilly's eyes. She could not suppress a gentle sigh of pure desire and ecstasy. Miley looked absolutely divine._

"_Miley...I love you so much."_

_The expression softened, and some of the passion died. "Do you really?"_

"_Of course, Miley! You're my everything," she replied eagerly and honestly._

_Miley's expression was unreadable as she turned back to the sea. Lilly felt the smile slide of her face like warm butter, her eyes growing pained and saddened._

"_You...don't feel the same, do you?"_

_The brunette glanced over her shoulder, gently, her eye not quite making contact with Lilly's. She sighed._

"_I don't know anymore, Lilly. Who can say how I feel?"_

"_You can! If I can do it, you can do it."_

"_But Lilly, I just don't know!"_

_Her voice sounded strained and uncomfortable, upset that she had no answer for Lilly's unasked question. _

"_I just...don't know anymore. How can I decide between my best girl friend and my best guy friend?"_

_Lilly was too choked up to answer. She knew it would come to this. It was one or the other, one way or another. There was nothing left to say, nothing more to bring to light. Lilly had shown Miley her heart, and now she had no answer. The blonde sighed sadly. She had known that it was too soon._

"_Isn't it beautiful, Lilly?"_

_She slowly raised her eyes to look back out at the horizon; the sun had dropped and was now casting more purples and reds across the sky and the surroundings. Miley sighed, content, delicate, secure within herself not to have to decide. _

"_Would you jump?"_

_The question caught Lilly off-guard. "Jump? What are you talking about?"_

_Miley turned around, stepping backward toward the cliff, creeping all-the-closer. Her heels were right on the edge; Lilly could feel her skin paling._

"_M-Miley...don't..."_

_The brunette laughed, a sound that both warmed Lilly's heart and stabbed through it. She didn't know how much more she could take._

"_Would you jump with me, Lilly?"_

_The brunette opened her arms, welcoming Lilly into her embrace. She looked so excited, and there was a new fire in her eyes, one that sent shivers down Lilly's spine. It was the fire she had always had before a performance, as Miley or as Hannah, and it was the same fire that showed her determination and commitment. Lilly swallowed dryly, still struggling to contain herself._

"_Miley, don't jump. Please..."_

"_Come with me, Lilly. We can jump together. It'll be fun."_

_The words were like a spell, and Lilly found herself moving toward Miley's comforting body. However, the brunette jumped backwards right as Lilly got to her, and she watched her friend fall off the cliff. _

_One moment, Lilly was watching in slow-motion as Miley jumped. The next, she was falling after her. Her body felt sick and she was completely numb, but she ignored everything, including the tears streaming from her eyes, just to get to Miley. She had to be there for the love of her life, no matter what happened._

_She watched Miley crash into the water, her body floating to the surface, limp, blood mixing in with the water. And then it was Lilly's turn, and the underwater rock rushed up to meet her halfway. She was going to die._

Suddenly, Lilly sat up and her body jolted, reacting to the nonexistent impact. However, she reacted so badly to the dream that she dropped out of her bed and onto the floor below, where she woke up, frightened for her life, agonizing over Miley. And once she got her wits back, she moaned as she began sobbing. She drew her legs up into her chest and laid down on her side, sobbing into her knees and the plush hotel carpet, terrified for herself, for her love, for everyone. It wasn't fair that everyone had to live in such fear and isolation all the time. Lilly hated it. She didn't know how much in comparison to Kitten, but she hated it with a fiery passion that refused to be doused by her tears of sorrow.

She reopened her eyes as she felt herself being dragged into someone's lap, a hand running through her hair to soothe her, another wrapped around her knees and clinging gently to her side. She looked up to see Kitten looking at her worriedly. Immediately, she dissolved into tears, sobbing into his chest, while he stroked her hair and back, never saying a word. He knew he couldn't calm her as well as he wished, but he also knew that words so soon would make things worse.

The gentle rubbing on her back by strong fingertips, the gentle caresses on her head, gently pulling at her hair, grazing her face or her cheeks once in a while, helped diminish the tears until they were nearly nonexistent. She sniffed loudly and looked up at his calm face, his eyes unfocused and gazing across the room at the empty space in front of the television.

"Kitten...how will she ever decide?"

He blinked as his mind processed the question, taking it into deep consideration while trying to put the answer into simple words. Finally, he came to his conclusion.

"She will have no choice but to pick you."

Lilly was a bit stunned. "B-but...how do you know?"

"Because I'm going to die soon."

"S-so? Why wouldn't she want to spend that time with you in your final moments?"

"There's too much pain there. Chances are she already knows that I will die soon. My father will have wasted no time in telling her."

Lilly shivered, both cold and disturbed. "I hate him."

The venom injected into those three simple words was enough to kill an army, and yet Kitten remained unfazed. "You and me both."

Silence descended over them. Lilly caught a glimpse of the clock on the cable box under the television in the moonlight and saw that it was nearly three in the morning. They only had to wait another day before the monarch would be away and they could get Miley back.

"I wish Ollie was here," she mumbled unhappily. Kitten sighed and drew her close, leaving a gentle peck on her forehead. She immediately turned red from the intimacy of the simple act of compassion.

"I do too, Lilly. Oh, believe me, I do too."

"Why do you want him here, Kitten?"

It wasn't an accusing question, but the pregnant pause that followed made it seem as such.

"I think he would know what to do in this situation."

Lilly sighed. "I want to believe that I'm in love with Miley, but what if I never got over him?"

"It's...possible," Kitten mused thoughtfully. "But I think you may actually have a stronger connection to Miley than to him. He's been gone for two years. You've been beside Miley that entire time. I suppose it's possible that you never got over him...but...would you rather love him, or Miley?"

Lilly was caught off-guard by the question. What scared her wasn't her answer, it was her lack of. She gulped.

"Kitten, I can't answer that question. I proposed to Miley already..."

"But if both of you want to be together, then it's fine."

"But what if she declines? What if I change my mind? What...how will we ever make all of this work?"

"You'll just have to try it out. Like my mother always used to say, 'Picking a girl is like buying a pair of shoes. You look at all the choices, pick out the ones you like, and then try them on to see if they fit. When you find the right one, buy it.' If you think you've found the right one, Lilly, then go buy her."

"But what about you? She's the right one for you, isn't she?"

"Honestly, Lilly, I think Fate just wanted a bit of a laugh. She couldn't ever be in my future if my life is to be cut so short. No, I think you two are meant to be together forever, the 'dream team.' You're both perfect opposites to each other, and that's why you work so well. Plus, you know so much more about each other. I don't know all that much about you except where you come from, where you've been, who your family is, and why you're here. That's all I really know."

He shrugged. Lilly was silent for a moment. "But...she's clearly in love with you."

"Infatuation and deep-seeded love are two different things. How long do you think before she falls _out _of love with me?"

"Kitten, you don't get it. She's _never_ been affectionate with anyone. All her ex-boyfriends, all the tears and struggles...it was all child's play. Something you would call 'puppy love'. She would never die for any of them, and she'd die a thousand times just to keep you alive for one more day."

He blinked, then gazed down at Lilly, her eyes glimmering in the moonlight. "Why is it you want to push her toward me when you're in love with her?"

"Simple. If she's happy, I'm happy, no matter what the sacrifice."

"Lilly, you can't be serious. I can tell that there's something more that you want. Miley being happy is such a simple concept, something that she accomplishes on her own. No, you want her all to yourself, and you hate the idea that if she's with me, she can't be with you. And if she can't be with you, then you're unhappy. You can't tell me that her happiness is your happiness."

"It is, Kitten. I could get over the pain of seeing her with someone else. I just can't get over the notion that she may spend her life unhappy if she's with me."

"Lilly, stop. That's crazy talk. She'd be even more happy spending her days with you than with me. All I can offer is a boy to hang on. You offer her several levels of depth, compassion, compatibility, things that I can't give her. Things that I don't know her well enough to give her."

"But isn't that the point of a relationship?"

"You already have that. Lilly, don't fight me on this one. You deserve to be with her. You and only you."

"B-but-"

"No. It's you."

He squeezed her tighter, trying to comfort her. She didn't feel any better, only guilty and insulted. He, however, would have none of it.

"Lilly, you need your rest. We have to scope in the morning. You need to recharge your body and mind. I'll be on the balcony if you need me."

"Kitten...stay."

"Stay?"

"Hold me. I...I don't want to be alone."

She looked up into his eyes, so fearful that he would leave. She didn't want to have another dream like the one she had woken up from. Even if she didn't trust him the way she used to, she couldn't give him up, especially considering he was the only source of comfort and security she had. Without Miley, she was lost.

"Are you sure you want that, Lilly?" he asked tentatively. She nodded, her eyes refracting the moonlight and making her face look like that of a scared child. He sighed gently and scooped her up, one arm behind her back, another behind her knees. She curled into his chest until he set her back on the bed, releasing her. She gave a small cry of protest, but he quickly assuaged her fears; he had stepped back to take his boots and jacket off, followed by his jeans, underneath which was a set of skin-tight leggings of sorts. He gingerly slid under the covers, just on the edge of the mattress, but Lilly wouldn't agree with that; she reached out and dragged his arm, and consequently his body, toward her, burying her head into his chest, now only garbed in a light t-shirt, the cloth warmer than the jacket that had covered it. She tentatively touched her leg against his and felt them to be stiflingly warm, the heated leggings working hard to regulate the body temperature in the man's legs.

"Kitten...why are your pants so warm?"

"They have to be. One of the problems with the drug is that I now no longer have control over my body heat. It only puts out the bare minimum amount to keep me going. The only thing these leggings do is trap the heat for me."

"They're really warm. Don't you ever get sweaty?"

"They don't allow me to. Any unnecessary heat is vented. Your legs will be warm tonight at the least."

She sighed, tucking her arms together in front of her chest while she snuggled against him. Despite claiming he had no body heat, he seemed to be putting out a great deal of it for her. She mumbled something incoherent to his ears before drifting off into a comfortable sleep.

Kitten, however, was unable to risk falling asleep. He slipped his phone gently from the inside of the leggings and dimmed the projection light to ensure that Lilly remained asleep. He checked Miley's vitals, only to discover that she appeared to be sleeping at the very least. It wasn't a relaxed sleep, but it was sleep. His eyes unfocused and he pondered the likelihood of success for their plan. It didn't look good. And the worst part for him was that he knew exactly how everything would happen, just because he knew exactly who everyone in the White House was and how his father tended to act. A thought came to him and he tapped an icon on the screen.

_Searching...2 entries found in vicinity. Choose contact._

Two three-character codes appeared in a list format on the screen. One was LJT. The other was MRS. He clicked on the second and watched as the phone brought up a new screen.

_Initializing link..._

The screen darkened for a moment, then was replaced by Miley's figure, dressed in a white shirt and white shorts, wearing plain white shoes. The camera on the phone turned on and he smiled in relief.

"You're alive," he breathed. She finally seemed to look at him.

"Kitten? Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me."

She squealed in excitement, but the computer-generated figure did not move. Only the face reacted. _Note: new software update needed._

"I miss you so much," she cooed.

"I miss you too, Miley. But I can't do much about it right now."

"W-what?"

"I can't come get you until the day after tomorrow."

"Why not?"

"Well, first, you're sleeping. Second, the monarch won't be giving his public speech until then."

"You mean, your _father _won't be giving the speech until then, right?"

The injured tone in her voice, linked with the accusing connotation on the word 'father' only served to make him cringe. "So he told you."

"Right before he had Kenton beat me to pieces," she replied quietly. Kitten hissed.

"I knew, I _knew _that the vitals hadn't lied. How's the leg holding up?"

"It's alright. The medic seems to be the only person here who isn't an ass. He fixed me up and calmed me down."

"How bad did he say it was?"

"He said something about four rods and a collar."

"A retaining column," he mumbled, feeling only slightly better. "How long will it take to heal?"

"I can't remember. I know it's going to be a while, and everything I do makes it hurt."

"I wish this never would have happened," he said, glowering at the dead space off to the right of the screen. Miley sighed.

"Hey, relax. I'm...I'll be fine. I can hang in there for another day. The medic can keep me company."

"Not knowing my father," he spat, struggling to keep his voice low. "That man will find a way to make your life hell for the next thirty-some hours."

"I don't know that he could make it much worse," she muttered. "I'm strapped to a doctor's chair with no clothing on my body and a column in my leg. I have no clue what part of the house I'm in and I'm scared for my life, even with the medic right here in the room with me."

"As well you should be," he concurred. "I'm just...I'm pissed off at myself. I should have told you everything. Chances are, you know more about me than I ever said."

"The condition that you have," she mused. Suddenly, she was angry.

"_You didn't tell me you were going to die!_"

"I couldn't, Miley. Look at how you're reacting. Look at the downside to telling you about my premature death. Look how happy you were not knowing."

"I had the right to know."

"Why is that?"

"Because I love you!" she cried. He blinked, managing to keep his voice even.

"So Lilly's proposal was all for naught?"

She blinked, taken aback by the sudden thrashing from the memory. She sighed, gazing down toward the bottom of the screen.

"Kitten...I just don't know what to do anymore."

"Do you find her attractive?"

"Yes," she responded immediately.

"Do you two get along well?"

"Of course."

"Do you wish she was comforting you right now?"

"Yes..."

"Would you die for her?"

"A million times over if I had to," she responded meekly, looking upset.

"Well, there you go. She's yours. She wants you like you have no idea, Miley."

"But all the answers are the same for you!"

"Irrelevant."

"It's completely relevant!"

"Miley, I'm going to die soon. I don't have enough life in me to give you children or a happy home or the love of your life. Lilly will be with you forever. God is already calling me upward."

"But I can't let you go! You have to give the medic your blood sample!"

"Even if I do, it won't help. The sample takes four hours to synthesize, and then it has to be duplicated in an incubation chamber for seventy-two hours, non-stop. It's too much time, Miley. I'd never get you out of there and away from my father if we wait that long."

"As long as you live, I don't care."

"Stop the melodrama, Miley. There's a reason why I told you no. There's a reason I told Lilly to spill to you. There's a reason why I _bought her the engagement ring for you_."

"You...you did all that...just for her?"

She looked utterly stupefied. He sighed.

"Now that all cards relating to this triangle are on the table...Yes, Miley. I pushed her toward you. She confessed her feelings to me after watching us kiss that night, the night she tried to cut herself but couldn't. We got the engagement ring in Colorado and managed to make it back in time for me to catch you in the boardroom. I will never lie to you, Miley: I love you with all my heart. I feel like at a moment's notice and for a lifetime and beyond I could even be in love with you. But my death is a cruel card that Fate has dealt me. I can't prevent the future from occurring. I can't live for yesterday. All I can do is make sure you and Lilly remain strong together, with each other. You're perfect for each other. You're sweet and quiet and passionate, and she's strong and loud and vigilant. Polar opposites always attract, Miley. I'm not your polar opposite. She is. Love her, be there for her, never let her go."

"But I want _you!_"

"For what? A very brief few months, if that? Miley, loving me and forming a relationship with me is only going to hurt you in the end. Nothing will be right, ever. You'll always be longing for what you lost. At least if you have her you can never lose her, never give her up. My untimely death would break that future for you."

"But...but..."

"Miley, just listen to my words for a moment. Think about them. You may not like it, but there is a truth behind them. I hate it just as much as the next person, but there's nothing I can do to change it. Just do what I say. As one final request to you. Be with Lilly. Be happy with her. I love you too much to see you in pain."

"And I love you too much to give you up! Why won't you just give the medic the blood sample?"

"Because he wouldn't be able to have it ready until it's too late. Miley, just please, don't make this any harder than it already is. I don't want to give you up. I don't like the idea of dying. I love my life too much. But my cards have been dealt, and I can't ask for a re-deal."

"If you love life so much, then why are you so willing to give it up?" she asked quietly. The question stabbed through him and shredded his heart; he nearly broke down into tears. He took a shaky breath and attempted to calm down.

"I can't readily explain it."

"Why not?"

"Because the hand of cards I've been given doesn't have an ace of spades in the mix. I'm doomed, Miley. I'm living through you and Lilly."

"But you should be living through yourself! Not through us!"

"That's why I've been with you the whole time. I've been living through you. My body has become little more than a puppet."

"Kitten, stop. You're scaring me."

"I'll only hurt you if I get too attached. It's even worse if you get attached. Miley, please...do it for me. Love Lilly for me."

He felt horrible for using Lilly as a guilt trip, but it was the only way he could see himself escaping the conversation without too much emotional damage on either of their parts. She struggled with the notion for a moment before sighing.

"A-alright, Kitten. For you."

"Think of it as a 'final request' of sorts."

"Isn't it just...a little early? F-for you to die, I mean..."

Her voice was tiny and pained, but he half-smiled and she visibly brightened up.

"Don't think of it that way. It's just...the only thing I will ask of you from here out."

She smiled, looking better. "Don't worry about asking me for anything, Kitten. I'd do anything you want."

He laughed quietly, aware of the sleeping blonde cuddling with his chest, her legs twined with his. "Well, then, I'm going to have you go back to deep sleep. You need to rest, Miley. Talking to me at such an hour isn't good for you."

"But I don't want to go!"

"You'll see me again soon enough, Miley. Just rest and relax, and remember: we will come save you."

She sighed, then began singing, quietly, in a voice that caused something within him to stir.

"_I need a he-ro to save my life, I need a hero to save me now, I need a hero, to save my life, A hero will save me just in ti-ime."_

He was moved by the lyrics. "I'll be there sooner than you think, Miley. For now, get some rest."

She sighed. "I love you so much, Kitten."

He hesitated just enough for a heartbeat to fill the gap. "I...I love you too, Miley."

Her image retreated backwards into the black background as he closed the window. He set the phone on the nightstand and wrapped his arms around Lilly's head, stroking her gorgeous waterfall of spun gold that she called hair.

"Lilly, you'd better be good to that girl. You're all that you both have."

He kissed her gently on the top of her head and let his mind wander while he gazed at the gently fluttering curtain that hung to the left of the sliding glass balcony door. His mind was in so much turmoil over what could happen and what was inevitable that he failed to notice the gentle stream of tears falling from his eyes and gracing his pale cheeks. A fist had tightened around his heart, and with every beat of the traitorous blood-pump in his body, he felt the walls of death closing in on him as he walked closer and closer toward the final door he would ever open.

* * *

**_Depressing ending. The next one should be better: more suspense than sorrow. Sorry if you guys don't like the failness of my endings; I usually end up burning out my creative spark three-fourths of the way through the chapter and can never find a good way to end them, especially at 10,000 words apiece. I hope I don't sound like I'm complaining; it's not a complaint to me, it's just what's really going on for me, the writer, and how my end of the story is affected. Any questions, comments, nudges, or suggestions, please feel free to share. I'm very open-minded and considerate of others and what they have to say, especially about my writing. And while I can't please everyone, I'm sure as hell going to try. :)_**


	8. Riot Act

**_A/N: AHAH! I FUCKING FINISHED! I'M SO FUCKING EXCITED I CAN'T FUCKING CONTROL MY FUCKING LANGUAGE! MUAHAHAHAHA FUCK YES!_**

_**Following that mini-rant, I'm ashamed to say that it's probably been longer than two weeks since I last updated this story. Fuck. More like a month or so. Fuck again. Whatever. I'm here. I'm alive. I've been working on another HMFF. No big deal, right? Besides, I thinnk that one's better. But that's for you to decide.**_

_**Jum: True, it seems to be very one-sided. HOWEVER! It is necessary in developing for the sequels. There will be a follow-up for this story, and a follow-up for that one. I believe the end result will be a Liley, equal and strong, but I cannot say for certain. That much will remain unclear until I get that far.**_

_**desertstormx: Well...considering that she's had an interest in him for a while now...it's going to be difficult for her to come to terms with the fact that he wishes her to date Lilly. Think about it: if you had feelings for someone, and they had feelings for you, but they pushed you away toward someone else who has feelings for you, wouldn't it make you love the first person more because they're being nice and strong and being the bigger, seemingly-less-needy person? I dunno, that's just me. Kitten's only a mystery to the audience. During the...third story, I think...it'll become more clear who he is and what he fights for. This story we've been reading is Lilly's story. The sequel is Miley's. If I get to a third...I don't know who it will be about. It all depends on me, I guess. Fuck. i'm speaking in riddles. It's all going to make sense if I decide to continue it. Shit will definitely hit the fan if I do. I dunno. I haven't seen much activity regarding this story. More people seem to enjoy Never Give In than this or my Jimmy Neutron story, so I guess Never Give In is my selling point. Ah well. I'll work it out eventually.**_

_**MayRey: Yikes. it's a long story to get through. Are you sure you want to cram it all into one or two sittings? Hell, if it were me, I wouldn't read this one at all. Ten thousand words per chapter is a bit discouraging to readers because it's so freaking long.**_

_**I'm sorry I haven't updated this in a while. If you wish to review, do, but I'd prefer to keep them on the down-low on this story; I've already planned it all out and while feedback is nice, I sometimes get confused as to which story it's for. Not saying I don't appreciate it, just saying that I'm not all I'm cracked up to be. XD**_

_**Anyways, here's chapter 8 of this story. It's all going according to plan. Beware: Chapter 9 is the climax. We finally find out who dies. Muahahahaha! :3**_

* * *

"How does it feel, Miss Stewart?"

She groaned. "It hurts like a bitch..."

"Just give it another minute and the pill will kick in."

She attempted to relax in the chair, but the lack of clothing and the slight chill in the air was not helping matters, not to mention the medic who was attempting at making her leg calm down and stop hurting while not allowing himself the simple luxury of gazing at her body in its compromised state. She was grateful for the man's help, even if she didn't know who he was.

Suddenly, the pain was almost nonexistent. Whatever the pain pill was, it was all that she needed, other than a decent meal and a shower.

"So...what exactly is that stuff?"

"It's an experimental, rapid-release painkiller. Since you don't seem to be having any adverse effects with this pill, I don't think there's any reason to not allow you to ingest it."

"What do you mean, adverse effects?"

"Well, you're not gravely ill, so that's a fairly good indicator. No itching, no coughing, nothing strange about your person, so I'd say you're fairly well off."

She sighed. "Thank goodness for that. It's like a miracle pill."

"I agree with you on that one."

"So...who are you, anyways?"

He shifted uncomfortably. Despite his tirade the night before, he couldn't simply reveal himself to the prisoner. Yet there was the underlying guilt that he wasn't telling her the truth of everything that she needed to know. He cleared his throat.

"Erm, well...you know me."

"Well, yeah, you're the medic."

"No, you know me on a more personal level."

"I feel like I do, but that can't be. I've never met you before in my life."

"You've known me since you were about ten or eleven."

"How is that possible?"

"Miss Stewart...Miley...look at me and try to figure it out."

"How do you know my name?"

"Just look and try to guess."

She drank him in with her eyes, the clean strands of dark-chocolate-colored hair hanging in slightly shaggy layers around his head, his bangs tucked sideways across his forehead. His chocolatey brown eyes speaking of intelligence and passion, a fire and an icy depravity within his soul. His nose and lips followed the contours of a man she had once known, aligned on his face to spread down his neck to his broad shoulders hidden beneath the long white labcoat. She screwed up her face and thought about how he appeared before her and who she'd known with his physique and appearance. Only one person came to mind, one person she'd not seen in a year or more, her had-been closest male friend. He had gotten along well with Kitten, had shared tons of secret glances and smiles with Lilly, had supported them all whole-heartedly from day one. Miley gasped.

"You're dead."

He smiled, partly in relief, partly in good humor. "Not, as it turns out."

She swallowed. "Oliver? Oliver Oken?"

"Smokin' Oken himself, still here, still alive."

"But...how...what...why...It can't be you!"

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Because you _died!_"

"Actually, I didn't, if you can believe it. I'm sorry for not telling you sooner, but I'm very much alive and here before you."

"How is this even possible?"

"Well, everyone was under the impression that the coven was eliminated, but this isn't true at all. We swore on our lives that we would not say anything about our identities, our true identities, to the public, our friends and family, anyone who knew of the revolt. We couldn't say anything because it would be the biggest scandal in the history of the government, worse than Kennedy's assassination."

"But what...?"

"We were put into a chamber that indeed produced carbon monoxide and would have killed us shortly. However, there's one fact that the media overlooked, that nobody knew about, that the monarch kept secret for all this time. He had us wearing air purifiers, and the devices siphoned the small particles of oxygen from the air. A pill we had taken before entering had put us all into a simulated comatose state, and our bodies were tossed into a dark room for twenty-four hours to fool the public into believing we have a euthanizer."

"There's no such thing?"

"It's just a ploy to scare the populace into obeying the government's command."

"So...we're not in any real danger?"

"On the contrary. This world is in danger of falling to its godforsaken knees. Since there's no outside link to the world, and they have no inside link to us, we're essentially our own world on this planet. None of the other countries can survive like this. It's nearly impossible without the United States at the forefront of the future."

"But...what does it all mean?"

"It means that this world will die out within the next ten years if the monarch keeps going in the direction he has been."

"But...why would he do that?"

"Simple. He is corrupted by greed and jealousy. He trusts nobody but his eldest son, Kitten, and the only reason he trusts that man is because he can't be trusted."

"Then why would he trust our leader if he can't be trusted?"

"Exactly for that reason. They hate each other with a fiery passion, but the leader is a very smart individual, and he has constantly been trying to persuade the monarch to revert the world to its original structure. He has been dropping small hints about the future of the cult and what will happen, but even as the monarch struggles to regulate everything, Kitten is one step ahead. Both are well aware of the speech tomorrow, and they both know that there will be a two-person party to help invade and reclaim you, to rescue you, Miley. However, Kitten will have at least one trick up his sleeve, maybe two, knowing him. His father will have no way of anticipating the attack, his only clue that it will be sometime during the speech, while he's away from the White House."

"How likely is it that he knows of the attack?"

"Pretty likely. Though, since the speech is one requesting that Kitten strike up a bargain with him, it is entirely possible that he has no idea of the impending attack." Oliver shrugged. "All I know for certain is that he will be here tomorrow to get you out."

"But...but...why can't you go with?"

"He is only coming for you. He, like Lilly, believes me to be dead, and I've sworn into secrecy on pain of death."

"But he can save you!"

"It's not a question of what he can do. It's a question of legality. I'm not allowed to show the monarch that I have any relation, any connotation or association with your leader. If he believes I'm in cahoots with the man that will bring about his downfall, he'll construct a euthanizer just for me to test out. I am as much a prisoner in this place as you are at this moment."

"And there's no escape for you?"

"None unless the dictator is overthrown. Which won't happen just by Kitten's hand."

"Why not?"

"The man is too powerful. He'd kill his son if his only other option were submission."

"What about Butters and Magic?"

"They're both good kids, but they won't stand up to the monarch the way their older brother will."

"Would he kill them?"

"Never. They're still confused by the idea that he may have some good left in him yet."

"Is there?"

"If there is, I just don't see it."

"Well...he didn't kill me...and he didn't kill you..."

"You're alive for ransom money. I'm alive because he'd die without me tending to his stress and blood pressure. At the same time, he will not hesitate to punish us for defiance of his laws. He has the overall upper-hand on us, Miley."

"Oliver...we can't just succumb to this! It's inhumane!"

"It's legal as long as he says it is."

She groaned in frustration and hatred. He cracked his neck.

"So, uhm...have you figured out which of the two you've decided to chase?"

She blinked, then nodded.

"Who won and why?"

"Lilly won," she said almost immediately, then blushed. He smiled.

"Good for you. I know how much she cares for you, and I know how happy this will make her."

"Well...it was a choice between her and Kitten, and even Kitten himself told me that Lilly was the better choice, since he...won't live longer than the summer...a-and he didn't want to l-leave me broken and disappointed."

"That's a very considerate thought he has..."

"I...I don't know that I'm madly in love with Lilly, but she and I have been closer than sisters since we joined this cult, even back when..."

"Back when?"

She looked downward at the floor, dejection scribed all over her face. The memories had once again socked her like bricks.

"...back when you two were dating."

She heard rather than saw Oliver stiffen in his chair. "Oh. That."

Miley sighed. "This is definitely going to be one helluva cycle..."

"What do you mean?"

"Well...I have to choose between Kitten and Lilly, and I know that she loves you more than anything...maybe she just never got over your death?"

"Well, I'm not dead, so I don't see how that will work..."

"Oliver, think about it. Kitten's dying. Lilly proposed to me, not knowing that you're alive. Once she finds out you're still here...what happens?"

"She will still love you unconditionally," he stated simply. "I still love her, don't get me wrong, but she's probably not the same Lilly I fell in love with so many years ago."

Miley blinked. Not the same Lilly? What had changed in the past year that he'd been gone?

"Miley, to be honest, our relationship wasn't going quite so well anymore. I...I wasn't feeling the fire anymore. I guess I sort of took the death-thing as an excuse to get out of the relationship unscathed. I chickened out on her, I guess. I know that's the wrong thing to do, and not something I should admit to anyone, least of all her, but...My feelings changed. She's an amazing person, but she's not my amazing person anymore."

"But...what happens if she thinks that you're still hers?"

"She already proposed to you."

"She can withdraw a proposal."

"No she can't."

"Why not?"

"Lilly doesn't go back on her promises. She promised to love you unconditionally, forever, just with that simple act of showing you the ring and asking you to marry her."

"But...that's not a promise. Not until we say vows on the wedding day."

"You think so?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then you've not listened to anyone when they read aloud from the preacher's marital handbook, the same book that describes everything to you as a couple, as life partners, and as one unit, from the time you were born until the day you die."

"Somebody's got a lot of time on his hands."

"No, I just bothered to do some research about marital vows in my free time. And yes, every single record of marriage dictates that a proposal is the formation of a promise from one person to another."

"Then..."

"Lilly made a promise to you to love you unconditionally. She will uphold that promise until the day she dies. I guarantee it."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know Lilly."

"But you said she changed."

"She did. But that much I know for sure about her. She wouldn't ever go back on a promise, especially not one as serious as a life-time commitment of love and trust."

Miley remained unconvinced. Oliver smiled, trying to calm her.

"Hey, relax. Lilly will always be there beside you, no matter what happens."

"But she's got you and Kitten's dying and _ugh!_" she cried. "Nothing makes sense anymore."

"It doesn't have to. Just accept it for what it is and move on," he said simply. She pounded a fist into the armrest.

"I can't, Oliver. There's nothing to base any of this on. There's no plot-line! It's just a series of events all smacked together! I don't even know who the hell I am any more!"

"You're Miley Stewart, song-writer and performer as known world-wide. You are a legendary pop icon for the people of your age and time, and you continue to inspire millions every day to keep on believing. The concert was proof of that."

"How did you know about that?"

"Word gets around. I'm not entirely in the dark about everything. I just don't get out as often because I'm not allowed. Like I said, if word got out that I was alive, it'd be a huge scandal that the monarch would never live down. I can't let that happen, as much for his sake as for mine."

"Why are you so nice to him?"

"He's the only reason I'm alive. Other men would have condemned our revenge effort, but he looked at it as an opportunity to grow, and he took all twenty of us and hid our identities from the public eye. It's all very simple when you think about it."

"But Oliver, you can't just stay here! You have to come with us! If Kitten's really coming to get us out, you should be with me, waiting!"

"I can't, Miley. He wouldn't know what to do. The mission was only to rescue you. He's not that quick on the ideas, not if he's suddenly told that a dead person was never really dead. Trust me, he's better off not knowing, and so is Lilly. Promise me that you won't breathe a word of my existence to them, promise me."

"I can't promise you that, Oliver," she replied, shaking her head defiantly. She could feel the sleep beginning to suck her consciousness away. "I can't make that promise."

"Then I can't keep you safe from Kenton."

"I'll take what I'm dealt," she stated, glowering. Oliver sighed, holding his head in his hands as Miley struggled to fight off fatigue.

"I want to be able to say so much, Miley...but fate has other plans for me. I'm only here to ensure that you're restored into Kitten's cult and Lilly's loving embrace, nothing more."

"I will deny that until the day I die," she mumbled sleepily. Further words were lost on her stone ears as she once again drifted into a sleep riddled with spikes of pain and sorrow.

Kitten's dark head of hair sparkled, the strands of metallic blue and purple glimmering in the sunlight like forged steel. His head looked like a blacked-out disco ball, and everyone was caught staring at it. He paid no attention. He had to scout out The Mall.

"The Mall," he had explained to Lilly just one short hour ago over breakfast, "is where all key elements of our national government are held. On the east end is Capitol Hill. On the west is the Lincoln Memorial. South is the Smithsonian museum, north is the White House. That's only a basic roadmap; the mall in essence is so much bigger, but keeping it to four simple directions makes for an easier investigation. For today, we have to blend in like tourists. My hair will be a sort of beacon for everyone, but that's unimportant. Our only job today is to blend in, for eight to ten hours, until nightfall. The speech begins at ten, so plan on leaving the hotel by ten-thirty. It's early, considering that's seven-thirty Pacific time, but it's necessary. The speech only goes until about eleven-thirty-ish. I don't know what kind of speech it is. Probably some new rule or decree. I don't care, in all honesty. All I care about at this moment is getting your girlfriend back."

At this, Lilly had blushed. Now, she desperately attempted to follow behind Kitten like a little lost puppy. It was hard keeping up with him; even though he was only a little taller than she was, his elevator boots and quick, long strides had given him a definite advantage in walking, not to mention that he had a way of being able to slide through the crowd the likes of which Lilly could not mimic; he was as obvious and visible as he was thin and lean like a piece of paper. The duo made their way toward the grassy knoll of the park at the heart of The Mall.

"We need an action plan," Kitten said quietly as they sat beneath a large, shady tree. There wasn't much grass around, mostly just dirt and weeds. A step down from the glory Lilly had been hoping for.

"Well, what are we going to do?" she asked, rolling a small rock between her fingers. Kitten grabbed a twig and began doodling in the dirt, creating an accurate replica of a floor-plan for the White House's first floor. Lilly watched in fascination as he placed rocks and small clots of dirt in certain areas of the highly-detailed dirt sketch.

"Right. We get in through the front entrance. Then we head for the eastern hallway. Miley is somewhere down near the end in one of the side-chambers. Get in, get her, get out. Simple."

"But what about the guards?"

"There will be guards everywhere. We are going to have to give in to bloodshed at some point. I personally have no pride in saying that I may have to kill good men, but if I must, I must. The only thing that could stop us would be my father, and he won't be within the vicinity of the House at that time. Should we need to kill, we shall. Should we need to fight, we shall."

"But we have no weapons!"

"Have you forgotten the Spyder?"

"No, but what does that-"

"It is armed to the teeth with more guns, bombs, and other types of destructive devices than anyone could ever imagine it capable of holding. I had to have a specialist company custom-build every aspect of the machine, including the hovering capacity. It's not just some flying vehicle for two. It's an instrument of war."

"Illegal much?"

"Hardly. So long as nobody knows, it can't truly be illegal, can it?"

"Who _does_ know?"

"The company that made it for me, which has since gone out of business. I know, as the owner. My siblings know, as is their duty. And now you know, as my associate and part of my cult. Five parties. That's it. It's not something I like to make public."

"But...that means we've been riding a tank around!" she cried, keeping her voice down so that passerby remained oblivious.

"Pretty much, yeah. I could go and blow the House all to hell, but that would achieve nothing. Not thusfar, at least. Miley would perish. We need her alive at all costs. She is justa s important to the cult's survival and revival as you are, just as everyone else in the cult is. After the capture at the concert, people will believe we were ruined in that moment. Getting Miley back and announcing it to the public will restore their hope in humanity."

"Is it even possible to get out alive? What if one of us dies, Kitten?"

He felt a stabbing pain lance his heart, like a thousand fiery swords swung all together repeatedly by Achilles as he fell to his knees and died. There was no way for him to ever be able to accurately predict the outcome of the events. Nonetheless, he slipped on the mask of confidence and security just as he had grown so accustomed to doing, if only for Lilly and Miley and the rest of the cult's sakes.

"There will not be any deaths tomorrow during the heist. I guarantee it. Even if I have to personally interfere."

"But that means that you die!"

"Collateral damage," he said airily, waving the comment off nonchalantly with his hand. "Nobody will die tomorrow anyways, but since I'm doomed to die anyways, I'd be the one to take the hit were anyone in danger."

"Kitten, you can't!"

"It's not your place to interfere with fate, Lilly."

He was very quiet in tone. Lilly felt tumultuous chills blazing their way down her back like a thousand freezing-hot firebrands stamping their signatures forever into her spine.

"Kitten...you're going to die tomorrow, aren't you?"

He blinked. "Nobody will die tomorrow if I have any say in the matter."

She slapped him. Hard. So hard her own hand hurt. "You bastard! One of us is going to die tomorrow and you know it! What the fuck are you doing keeping that kind of information from me?"

"I don't know for certain, Lilly!"

He looked pained. There was obvious hurt in his eyes, the likes of which Lilly had never before seen in her life. His heart now lay out and exposed, all primed and perfect for her eyes. She felt ashamed and sorry for him.

"You...can't understand...what it's like to have a premonition. A dream. A nightmare."

"You slept last night?"

He shook his head. "I let my mind work through its thoughts in a sort of stupor. It's the only thing that I can do to gain energy back that I've spent, the only way to calm me, the only way for me to extend my life. Stupors only work for me in times of high amounts of stress. They drag me back to earth. Some are insightful, others are like reliving memories. This one was akin to a nightmare."

He fell deathly silent, looking hollow and shrunken in the blazing sunshine overhead. He felt it even in the shade of the tree, so intense it was.

"Kitten...what did you see?"

He was silent another moment. "I cannot predict the future. I cannot change the past. All I know is what I see, what I hear, what I learn. My past experience and methodical process of trial and error gave me the vision I had last night while you dreamt in my arms. I...I watched my father pull out a six-chamber revolver, cock the hammer, utter a sentence, and pull the trigger. I watched my own father shoot a gun."

Lilly waited, but he did not continue. "Who did the bullet hit?"

He swallowed dryly. "The bullet left the chamber...and your heart exploded out the backside of your chest. I watched you die, drowning in a pool of your own blood, as your heart stopped beating, its tattered remains hanging limply in your chest. You...you died right before my eyes."

She was stunned. He had witnessed her being shot and dying, had seen her writhing on the floor in pain in her final moments of life and breath. Lilly gulped. Kitten didn't often have any sort of premonition about events to come and mostly based the future off what he knew and what he could predict. And while his predictions were accurate about eighty percent of the time, his visions were always one-hundred-percent correct, even down to the tiniest, most minute detail. There was little he could do to stop them from coming true. No matter what he tried, the future never altered course from his visions. That much Lilly knew for certain; she had only been informed of two others, and both had happened exactly the way they had been described. She began to hyperventilate. She was going to die.

"That's why I said what I did, Lilly. I will take that bullet for you. I will break my father's hold over us at all costs. I can't lose you. I've already lost Miley and that's horrible enough...but I can't lose you, too."

"You haven't lost her! She's still alive!"

"She's a prisoner in my father's clutches! Sure, she's alive, but imagine the torture he's probably putting her through right now!"

Lilly was silent. She noted that there was an elderly couple sitting on a nearby bench, tossing breadcrumbs to the pigeons around their feet. They were gazing at the duo on the dirt with a fair amount of interest.

"Lilly...you need to come with me."

"Where?"

"To see your mother, my mother...and someone else."

"What? Why? Aren't we supposed to stay here for Miley's sake?"

"There's nothing we can do until tomorrow. She should be able to hang on for another night. Until tomorrow, we really have nothing we can do in terms of building a strategy or revenge plan. It doesn't make sense for us to loiter here...especially when your mother would like to see you so much."

"She would?"

"I went to her house off the Florida Keys about a month and a half ago. I had to see my mother. She's staying with your mother in the same house, since they're such good friends as a result of all this terror and chaos. We also need to pay a visit to one clueless individual, one whom I've not spoken to in at least six months."

"Who could that be?"

He swallowed. "Miley's father."

A chill ran down Lilly's spine. She did not like the idea of that conversation.

Michelle had been laying out on the sand that surrounded the perimeter of the tiny island, stark-naked, sunbathing to darken her already-prominent and gorgeous tan, unmarred by the unsightly marks of strings or other forms of coverage that would otherwise block the ultra-violet rays from giving her some color, when she heard the far-off sound. She'd know that sound anywhere.

"He's coming," she murmured to herself, sitting up and looking around.

Heather sat up beside her, just as bare-bodied, but nowhere near as dark in complexion. "What's going on, Seashell?"

"My son is coming back."

Far, far out on the horizon, almost beyond the range of vision, there raced a black dot, the size of a pinprick, rushing toward the island with incredible speed. Michelle blinked.

"There's someone else with him."

"How can you tell?" Heather asked, propping herself up on her elbows.

"He's going slower than normal."

"You can tell that from all the way out here?"

"The waves off to the sides of his vehicle are smaller than normal. He isn't moving as fast. The air isn't making such tall waves."

"Amazing how you know that, but you didn't even know he'd be coming today."

Michelle stood, the sand grains falling lightly from her body. "Regardless, we should probably attain some form of decency," she said joyfully, skipping up the steps to the front patio and then into the house to find a light, plain sundress to cover her body until he left. Heather, however, had no intention of moving.

"Feather, shouldn't you be getting something to wear?"

"Let him see me. I don't care."

"He's bringing your daughter along."

Heather sat bolt upright. "How do you know _that_?"

"There's a blonde speck with him. She's the only blonde he knows."

"You can see that from back here?"

"I don't just wear contact lenses because I'm near-sighted, you know," the woman replied, returning out front. Heather groaned.

"You're gonna make me get up and get dressed, aren't you?"

"Actually, that's all in your hands. I prefer to have some form of clothing on when I greet my children, though."

"Fine, fine. That's code for 'get your ass dressed before your daughter sees her old, wrinkly mother sunbathing nude' I guess."

Michelle laughed. "Just hurry up, slowpoke," she said, giving Heather a light, friendly swat on the backside. The blonde giggled.

"That kinda tickled. I didn't know you were into spankings."

"Hey, now, none of that. I'm not a lesbian, you know."

"You sure? Living out here on this island all alone, I'd figure you'd want some release."

"Hearing you at night? No thanks. That's enough to scare me into nightmares."

Heather returned out front, looking completely unashamed. She, too, had opted for a light sundress, one that was partially see-through just like Michelle's, one that was intended for night-wear or temporary use.

"You can't tell me you don't fantasize on your own."

"I'm not saying that at all," Michelle returned, scanning the horizon calmly, still in a joking mood. "I'm saying that I really don't need to hear you getting off down the hall. Sure, we're alone here, but that also means that we need to respect one another and each other's privacy, right?"

"Eh, we kinda sacrificed privacy when we began sunbathing nude today. Just like we've been doing for the past year."

"Nonetheless..."

Michelle fell silent, watching as she could now indeed clearly distinguish her son's spiky hair flapping wildly in the breeze, the blonde tornado of Heather's daughter's hair blowing and whipping behind his unruly spikes. There would be hell to follow when Lilly decided to comb out her hair later that day, if at all. For as the bike pulled up and shut down and the occupants dismounted, neither with helmet or other protection against the elements, the fear, anger, anguish, and confusion immediately became evident among them all. They stood in silence for a brief moment before Heather stepped forward and lovingly embraced her daughter.

"Lilly...my Lilly...I haven't seen you in ages..."

"Hey, momma. How's life?"

"Slow. Seashell and I were sunbathing minus the dresses when she heard the bike coming from a few miles away."

"Still that good at hearing, Michelle?"

"Only for my son," she replied, reaching for her son. He, however, did not comply with her wish for a hug.

"I don't deserve that kind of affection at this point and time, mom."

"Oho? Is that so?"

"Mom...Miley's been taken."

Her arms immediately dropped to their sides. Kitten was staring angrily at the ground, his feet planted wide into the sand. He looked ready to attack anything that made him any more angry.

"What do you mean, taken?" Heather asked. She had a deadly note of foreboding in her voice.

"I mean just that. We did the concert, and at the very end, the monarch himself dropped a helicopter out of the sky, knocked the girls out, and took Miley away from us. I managed to save Lilly, but I...I failed myself and Miley. I failed. She's been taken."

Heather could not prevent herself from swinging a clenched fist at him, stepping away from her daughter's grip. The whipping hand crashed against his cheek, but he did not move. Heather made a noise that was a cross between a huff and a whimper; it had been like punching concrete. He hadn't even moved his head as a result of the impact. Her other hand immediately dropped limply. There was no point in trying again; he would only deflect her blow once again. The red mark appearing on his cheek gave Heather no small amount of satisfaction, but it wasn't enough. She seized his outfit, choking him with the collar of his own set of dress shirts.

"You. You bastard. I _told _you to protect my girls."

"She's not your daughter."

"_She might as well be! And now you've jeopardized her!_"

He blinked, livid beyond belief. It seemed impossible that he could maintain his composure with such anger so that the veins in his temple pulsed, yet there he stood, feet rooted, hands in his pockets, eyes downcast and clouded with agony.

"I promised you I wouldn't let anything happen to your girls. I broke that promise. But I will not lose her. Tomorrow, the big man himself will be giving a speech. He will address the public and most likely provide a request for compliance on my part. During that time the House will be empty. I'll go in, get Miley, and get the hell out before I lose my mind and murder someone in cold-blood."

"You don't have the gall to kill a man," Heather spat. "You _forfeited this country's future!_"

A blade found itself pressed to Heather's throat. She could not step back; her body was bent over backwards in a very compromising position, Kitten's hand on the handle of the twelve-inch-long porcelain knife, his other behind the older woman's shoulders.

"I suggest you watch what it is you say. I'll kill just about anyone that gets in my way right about now, no matter who they are. Keep talking the way you are and you'll climb above the big man on my shit list. I get it. I fucked up. And I'm going to die to fix it."

He stood them both back up and slid the knife back into its holster, the leather pouch of which was blended seamlessly into the fabric of his pants. The handle was virtually undetectable.

"You're...what?"

"I will die to save Miley if that's what it takes."

"You can't die," Michelle cried, tears in her eyes. The emotional stress was getting to her as much as it had to Heather. She tried to be happy, but the thought of her son dying broke her heart.

"Y-you can't die!" she cried again, the tracks running down her cheeks. He blinked, then handed the woman a small glass sheet.

"Touch it with your finger and it will display everyone's vital signs, including those of yourself, Heather, and the monarch. Scroll left and right to see other vitals, up and down for specifics. It's updated by satellite so it should be accurate within several seconds. It's the best I can offer," he said quietly. "I don't like the idea of death, but if there is any doubt in my mind, any danger, anything to hurt the girls, I will do my very best to get in its way. I am responsible for getting Miley into this mess, and now that Lilly's been dragged in as well, I have to get everyone out. That is my obligation as their leader and their male companion."

"Male companion?" Heather balked. "What the hell is _that _supposed to mean?"

"It means that I have to defend them with my life as a male lion would defend his mate and cubs. It means I have to be strong, vigilant, and determined. And goddamnit, I'm not going to lose either one of them again. I certainly had the balls to come up with this scheme, now I've gotta have the balls to get us through it. Even if I don't make it all the way."

"You can't just die like that!" Michelle whimpered. "That's not the way it was meant to be. You're supposed to find the girl of your dreams, get married, have children, grow old!"

Lilly felt an icicle stab her chest. They were definitely on rocky ground now.

"Mom...the girl I love, the only one I can devote my everything to, is trapped in the House. She is not there by choice. She is there because the monarch kidnapped her. I sacrificed her that night. I had already sacrificed my feelings toward her for the good of another, one who couldn't live without her."

"Who is it that couldn't live without the girl of _your _dreams?"

"The same girl I brought here to see you once more before we attempt to brave the monarchy."

Both women turned to Lilly, who looked pale and sweaty. Her hands were shaking. However, much to her surprise, neither was angry.

"You...you love Miley?" her mother asked, incredulous.

"Y-yes, mom...I'd do anything for her. I...I proposed at the concert, right before she was kidnapped. I feel just as responsible for this mess as Kitten."

Heather's expression was unreadable. Michelle was visibly torn. Kitten still glared at the ground. Lilly didn't know what to think anymore. She suddenly felt very guilty of the burden she had placed upon Kitten's shoulders by confessing her feelings for Miley. There was so much she had taken from him just by saying she was interested and in letting him back down. She felt horribly guilty and ashamed.

"Maybe I shouldn't have proposed."

Nobody said anything. Kitten grew more angry, though the only visible indication was that the fingers on his left hand tightened into a fist. Lilly swallowed, trying to focus on anything but his figure. It was impossible.

"I've caused you so much trouble, Kitten...I've caused you so much pain."

The fist tightened more. His forearm vibrated gently as he struggled to contain himself. Lilly pressed onward.

"Kitten, you should be with her. Not me. I don't deserve her."

He snapped. Lilly found herself pinned to the sand, his body straddling hers, knees holding her thighs, hands holding her wrists straight up from the top of her head.

"Take. It. Back."

His eyes lacked their contact lenses. Lilly could see that they were a fiery red, the pupils wide, eyes blazing and bright. He was beyond livid. Beyond unthinkable anger. He had reached the point of no return, and the intensity of the red in his eyes was enough to make Lilly cry as he held her.

"Take. It. Back."

She sobbed. He glared. Heather attempted to lift him off her daughter's body, but to no avail; it was as if he was planted into the sand like a statue. He didn't even react to her struggle; it was like lifting a concrete slab.

"Take. It. Back."

Lilly scrunched her eyes shut, then shook her head back and forth. "I can't! It's true!"

"Is _NOT!_" he roared. She cowered into the sand, trying desperately to get away.

"You will not speak to my daughter that way!" Heather shouted, resuming her futile effort of trying to drag the angry man from her daughter's weak form. Again, it was as though she were trying to move a concrete slab. He would not budge.

"Get the fuck off my daughter!"

"Stay out of it," he warned. His voice was little more than a growl, one that terrified Heather more than anything. With her daughter held in such a compromising position, she was fearful of what he would do.

"Michelle!" she called, trying to find some way to divert the man. Nothing worked. The woman didn't even move.

"He won't let up until she complies, no matter how long he has to wait," she replied simply.

"He's molesting my daughter!"

"He is doing nothing of the sort. He believes in what he fights for and believes that your daughter is misspeaking." She was eerily calm. Heather was totally unnerved. The man was literally bat-fuck crazy. Even his father, the psychotic monarch of the country, couldn't best his son, his son who legally belonged in an asylum for his mind alone, his mannerisms aside.

"Get him off!"

"He won't move. You cannot budge him until she complies."

"That's rape! It's habeas corpus!"

"Holding a person still is not rape or habeas corpus. It is frowned upon but not illegal."

"It's against her wishes!"

"His will is greater than hers."

"Bullshit!"

"If it were not, you would be able to move him."

Heather stood, dumbfounded, glaring daggers at Michelle, who was watching her son as though this were a regular occurrence. The older blonde had a sneaking suspicion it had been when he was younger and lived with her. Finding no alternative to getting the man off her daughter, she fled angrily into the house, slamming the door behind her. The noise reached Kitten's ears and he reacted by shifting one hand from Lilly's trapped arms down to her face. He lifted her chin, and she was given no alternative but to face him. He brought his face close, so close she could feel the calm exhalations from his nose as they grazed her lips. She could feel the heat from his face, he was so close.

"You and I both know you love her with everything you have and ever will have," he whisper-growled. "Do not be denying yourself the opportunity of a lifetime, one that you will never, ever have the privilege of encountering again, slip through your fingers when I so willingly and fittingly gave it up for your sake. Do you understand?"

She struggled. He clamped tighter, his fingers acting on impulse and taking the front of her neck in a light, but firm, grip. She swallowed, feeling as his hand compressed her larynx a bit. It was scary to think that he could throttle her without so much as a second thought. He truly was bat-fuck crazy. Just like her mother believed him to be. Lilly never understood why her mother didn't trust Kitten's judgment. Now she understood, and being on the receiving end only proved to further clarify her point.

"Do. You. Understand?" he pressed, his hands tightening slightly. She coughed and nodded slowly, fearful for her life should she fail to comply. She had no way of knowing that he would not harm her, just rough her up a bit.

"Do you swear on your life that you will love Miley unconditionally, so help you God?"

She swallowed. She wondered why he suddenly turned to wedding vows to prove a point. "K-Kitten-"

"Do you swear?"

He was still whisper-growling, but the effect it elicited was nothing short of compliance. He blinked, the fire in his irises blazing brighter.

"If you do not love her, Lillian Truscott, so help me I will come back to haunt you, dead or alive. Are we clear?"

Again, she nodded. He squeezed one last time as though to seal the pact, then returned to a standing position in one fluid movement, something that any normal human being would have been incapable of doing; he had placed absolutely no pressure on his hands or knees in lifting up. Lilly gulped down air, wondering what kind of monster Kitten truly was.

"Right. Mom, I've been through enough here. You both know the situation. If all goes well, we'll all come out in one piece. If not...I become collateral damage. I swear that upon all that I am, ever was, ever could be. I will not break my promise to you, the promise I should have upheld from the beginning: I will protect Miley Stewart and Lilly Truscott no matter what the price."

Michelle nodded, her heart heavy, her features laden with grief. "Take care of the girls, son."

He gave her one curt nod, then stepped aboard the bike once again. Lilly looked hesitant as she slowly rose to her feet.

"Go on, Lilly. He won't hurt you."

"I can't know that for certain," she replied viciously. Kitten remained unfazed.

"Right. Then stay put. I'll do the mission all on my own. You'll get the girl, and I'll go to the grave."

He whicked the throttle backwards and the bike hoisted itself into the air, but at the last possible minute, Lilly grasped hold of the side of it and clambered aboard, keeping as much distance between their bodies as possible. She hated him as much as she depended on him. It was like he had her in another stranglehold. She hated leaving others in control.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice searing with anger.

"To Miley's father's house. We still have yet to inform him and his son about the proceedings."

Robbie Ray Stewart had been reading the newspaper rather intently when he got the knock on the door. He sighed and folded up the black-and-white sheets, leaving the zig-zagging words to spiral across the page without his supervision. He wondered who would be knocking on his door, of all other doors in the world, in the middle of the afternoon. He lived in the country, where some might call "the middle of nowhere," a place far away from any sort of civilization. Visitors were usually treated with respectful hospitality, but nothing beyond. He tried to keep his life private, the location of his home secret, his children safe. Ever since that damned black-haired psycho had stolen his daughter away for his own personal endeavors, he had despised the criminal with all his heart.

Needless to say, Robbie opened the door and scowled when he saw who had come knocking. Those spikes were like knives to his heart.

"The hell you want, boy?"

"To come in and speak with you," he replied calmly. At the sight of Lilly's head of hair standing behind his own, Robbie sighed wearily.

"Fine. Just know that I don't like you and I'm watching you."

"Of course...but that only means that what I have to say only becomes that much harder to actually dictate," he said cautiously, stepping gently over the threshold. Lilly followed him, standing unusually close to his figure. Robbie knew not of the scuffle they'd had earlier that day, but Lilly had realized on the way over that she couldn't alienate herself from Kitten. He was her guardian, in essence, and if she pushed him away and tried to become an independent person, she'd crumble into nothing. He was her leader, no questioning that, and there was no possible way she could hope to be free unless he led the way.

"So, boy, what have you got to tell me?" the aging man asked, dropping back into the chair he had so loathingly vacated to answer the door. "You've already told me it won't be good, now spill."

Kitten sat in the chair furthest away from Robbie, something the older man noticed. Even with the first tinges of gray beginning to show in his hair and his small, well-kept mustache, he was still highly perceptive of people he had made frenemies with.

"Well, sir...it's regarding your daughter."

"You got her pregnant?"

"No."

Robbie looked relieved, to say the least. "Thank Heaven for that blessing. Then what the hell are you doing showing up here looking so goddamn depressed?"

"She's been taken, Mr. S," Lilly said gently. Robbie's face went blank.

"Taken? By who?"

"The government," Kitten filled. "She agreed to perform a concert to instill hope into the hearts of millions of Americans, to remind them of a time not so long ago when freedom rang throughout the land. The government saw it as an opportunity to kidnap her and torment her for information. She's currently in the White House, probably in a torture chamber, being whipped or thrown around or starved or some other horrid thing."

Robbie had begun shaking. "You...let my little girl...get taken away from me?" he asked unsteadily.

"I didn't let her get taken away," Kitten said slowly. "She was kidnapped by the monarch. I had no control. I tried to get her back, sir, I swear..."

"You let them take my little girl away," he said quietly. His blue eyes met Kitten's soft brown ones, tears swimming in his eyes. Kitten felt crushed to see a grown man so broken.

"Sir...I promise you-"

"Miley's all I have!" he cried. The man began sobbing into his hands. Kitten felt his own heart breaking.

"She's my little girl, boy. She's my world. I poured my heart and soul into that girl. I kept her alive and safe all these years, and then you came along and now she's gone!"

"She's not dead. That much I can guarantee. Sir...tomorrow, the monarch is giving a speech to the public. I will be there, in D.C., when he is giving the speech. However...your daughter is my priority. Goddamn it all, I will bring her back to you alive and safe, even if she's a bit battered and bruised. I can do nothing any sooner to remedy this problem. Tomorrow is when I have an opportunity. Tomorrow is when I strike. She's alive, sir. I believe in her. I believe in myself. I will fight for her, sir, and I will die for her if necessary. That I promise you."

So many promises in such a short period of time. It began to weigh on Kitten's shoulders. There was one or two that he would have to break, but those did not concern his desire for the well-being of others. He believed so fiercely that he could save Miley and vanquish the government that he refused to see the possibility for failure. There was no way that he could let this die. He could not let her go.

Because he loved her that much. Because she meant that much to him. That was why he had given her up to Lilly: because he cared too much.

* * *

**_I personally would have no way of being able to give up Miley Stewart were I in Kitten's position. If I cared that much, I'd be clinging to her like she's a drug and I've got an addiction...or something to that effect. Ah well. This just means that I can now write ten more chapters for Never Give In before I decide to update this one. Which means no new chapters here for at least two weeks, though more likely a month or so. Stay tuned for the climax and resolution; two chapters will close this story off until I get bored and write the sequel. Who will die? Will the monarch be overrun? What does Oliver have to do with the story? Will Miley be saved? Will she be with Lilly in the end? I realize I stated that it's a Liley story, but that is potentially meaningless if I so decide. Until my next update...be sure to check out Never Give In for more Liley adventures in a different universe. Muahahahaha! I'm an evil little bitch, especially considering I'm a seventeen-year-old boy, aren't I? :3_**


	9. A Word From The Author

_**Hello, Kyttin here again. I'm so sorry for departing, my lovelies, but unfortunately, my inspiration dissipated and, well, fell to pieces. I didn't have any motivation to continue any unfinished works here on the site, but I trust that you'll forgive me when I say that I have a reason.**_

_**Now, I have some business to attend to. First, I must cover which story this is for and why. This is not a chapter update; this is more like my farewell of sorts to the incomplete work. This story is The Angel of Death, correct? **_

_**Well, it's been left unfinished because writing 10,000+ words in one chapter is a very ardurous process and more people seemed to like my writing of Never Give In. Another thing I realized partway through is that it's a lot of information to stomach and it's not very well organized. **_

_**I don't think anyone wants to pick this story back up just for the simple reason that it's far too long to complete, so I'll go ahead and give you the plot spoiler for the ninth and final chapter right here. Lilly and Kitten were to invade the White House as expected and spend a great deal of time subduing guards and sneaking around the inside of the house. When they finally meet up with Miley, she has to be carried and is done so by Kitten himself while Lilly reunites with Oliver rather happily. The group then goes to invade the Oval Office in search of money and a note of farewell to the Monarch, but they arrive and are locked in before they realize he is in the chair before them. He stands and congratulates them all on their valiant effort, but states that he planned the speech to be given by one of his representatives instead, having feared beforehand that something would happen should he depart the residence. Kitten stays calm, but everyone can feel his anger as he badmouths his father in front of everyone, unwillingly revealing their connection and causing the old man to laugh. He curses their existences and draws a revolver from his desk, pointing the gun at the group. With the parting words "it was nice meeting you all, but now it's time to go," he pulls the trigger, and Lilly falls to the floor and into a sea of black. **_

_**Had I continued this story, she would not have died; in fact, she had only fainted while Kitten's own blood spilled at the hand of his father, right onto the liberty eagle in the center of the rug. How they would escape afterward was a detail I had foregone until I should have had more want to disclose it. **_

_**Thus, you have the explanation for The Angel of Death. I'm terribly sorry I wasn't around to finish the story off, but if someone wishes to adopt this piece and write the finale I have above (or turn it into your own work with your own ending), please, I encourage the creativity with only the small request that you credit me as your original source for this story. I again apologize for my disappearance, but I shall clearly and openly state that I've begun a new work, a Jimmy Neutron fanfic which is already 8,363 words long in Chapter 1 alone, and I'm looking for beta readers. The first three people to message me (or post replies; one per recently-completed story that isn't Never Give In) will become betas for me, but I WARN YOU NOW: the story is hard to stomach. It's not a bad piece, just a lot to take in.**_

_**Since my rant here is done, I wish you all the best and that you keep reading and writing to your hearts' content. I love all you guys and I'll see you soon.**_

_**~Kyttin**_


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